


Trees Instead of Graves

by bluestalking, feverbeats



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Beyond, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 137,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason wakes up alive forty years later. The new kid's name is Terry, but he's going by Batman. Bruce is old, the Joker won't stay dead, and Terry's family is missing. No one is what they used to be. But in this Gotham, you don't have to stay down. In this Gotham, you can get it all back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm gonna change you (like a remix)

**Author's Note:**

> General Warnings: mental trauma/PTSD, mental illness, violence, kidnapping, death, age-gap relationships, explicit sex, endangered families

It's two in the morning by the time Terry has dealt with a batch of clowns. Which is a job well done, for the first job in a while. Terry thinks it's, well, not really _enough_ , but enough for what it is. He is, shamefully, completely prepared to ignore any minor crime he sees going down on the way back to the mansion. He just wants to get the inevitable interview with Bruce over with, and then he wants to get in a nice warm bed and stay there. 

The problem is that when the minor crime goes down, it happens to _him_. He's on his way back to the Batmobile when this guy comes flying out of an alley and tackles him to the ground. Terry completely fails to land gracefully, never mind stop him or anything.

“Terry!” Bruce says in his ears.

"It was that or rip off your tires," says the attacker. He’s wearing street clothes. He looks like a kid. “But that didn’t really seem like enough.” Terry thinks he hears Bruce make a tight little noise, but the kid punches Terry square in the face, and he hits _hard_. It’s kind of distracting. "You aren’t fucking Batman."

 

" _What?"_ Terry says, and "—the _hell--?"_ as the guy's fist meets his face a second time. Terry shoves him away with as much of the suit's power as he thinks he can use without killing anybody. The attacker lands on the ground, and Terry jumps backwards.

"First of all," he says, "I'm the only Batman in town. Second of all, who are _you?"_

The kid laughs. He sounds a little unhinged.

"Don't tell me the real Batman didn't teach you anything. You must have seen the footage. The photos. At least the damn _suit_." He grins. "Or maybe you’re an impostor. I'm Robin."

Terry frowns. "No way," he says. "I've met Robins. Old guys, kinda tubby, bad moods. And Batgirl? Terrifying, and also old, and definitely not you. Sorry."

The guy grits his teeth, then looks surprised. "I--what? Hold on. Hold _on_. You need to slow down. You're not making any sense." He offers another slightly off-kilter grin.

"Uh," says Terry. "I don't think I'm really the problem here. But--" He inches around so he's not backed against a wall anymore. He needs to gently punch this guy out. He really just wants to go home and go to bed. "There's just the two Robins, _right?” Come on Bruce, chime in._

Bruce obliges, snaps in Terry's ear, "You need to take him out. Now." He sounds strangled.

The kid nods and jabs half-heartedly at Terry's midsection. "Two Robins, right. Nightwing and me."

"What?" Terry says, so thrown off that the attacker almost manages to land the blow. "Okay, I clearly am not gonna understand anything that comes out of _anyone's_ mouth right now." He fires a sedative gas grenade, wing over his face. It goes off under the other guy's nose, and he collapses to the ground after a couple of seconds.

"Okay," Terry says. "What the hell just happened, old man? And what am I supposed to do with this guy _now?"_

"Bring him here," Bruce says after only a short pause. "Restrained. He's--an impostor."

"Uh," says Terry, which he's saying a lot. He doesn't really like situations that make him say it a lot. "Impostor. Him and me both, apparently. I'll bring him in, old man, but I expect something better than 'imposter' when I get there, all right?”

"You can expect what you want," Bruce says grumpily, but he's had to be a little better, lately, at actually handing Terry real information.

"Great," says Terry. He handcuffs the kid, and then looks down at him for a minute. "I'm so glad this happened like two blocks away from the Batmobile."

"Mm. I don't think that was a coincidence." Bruce's voice has gone extra gravelly. "Can you get a little closer? I want to see his face. No—I mean—just bring him back here. Then I can get a better look.”

"Guess what?" Terry says. "You sound really creepy right now." But he hoists the kid up and carries him back to the Batmobile. Two blocks is _not_ a short distance with a teenager over your shoulder, whatever Bruce thinks, and it's really lucky no one sees Terry hauling this unconscious boy around, even at two in the morning. Not _all_ of Batman’s press is good press. 

Terry sticks his passenger into the Batmobile and makes sure he's _really_ secure. He is so not interested in in-flight hand-to-hand combat just right now.

"Okay," he says as they take off. "Coming home."

Bruce grunts. He's silent the whole time Terry's making his way back to the manor, although Terry can occasionally hear him breathing in the background. Terry bites his tongue, because he knows it won’t do any good. All he says is, “Some triumphant return that was, huh?” and Bruce gets even more weirdly quiet than before. The unconscious attacker remains unconscious, although he moans quietly once or twice.

Terry is so unhappy.

When Terry arrives home, Bruce is pacing in the Cave, his cane clicking against the stone floor. He looks up as soon as Terry comes in.

"Bring him here."

Terry hesitates. "What's going on?" he says. "I kinda just knocked out a guy and dragged him back to my bat-cave and I can't tell you how uncomfortable that makes me feel. What does he mean, he and Dick are the two Robins?"

Bruce is staring at the unconscious boy. "No visible injuries," he says almost absently.

"Bruce," Terry says. His heart is pounding.

"He's right," Bruce says. He isn't looking at Terry. "As far as he knows, he's right."

"Oh," Terry says, "you are explaining the hell out of this one, old man."

Bruce won't stop staring. "It's him," he says. His eyes flick to the wall of suits encased and glass and then back. "He was--he's dead."

"Who?" Terry asks. "Yeah, no, he's not over there. Is he really Robin? Why the hell don't I know anything about him, if he's Robin? Bruce, who is this guy?"

"You don't know anything about him," Bruce says through gritted teeth, "because he _died_." He gestures toward the cases, a short, sharp motion. "All of them, they quit. They left. But he didn't make it out alive. His name was Jason. The mainstream media didn’t really notice the difference, so you might not have known even if you have ever gone digging."

Terry is speechless. "He--you just--?" But of course Bruce just hid it all away. Of course he didn't say a thing. Bruce doesn't do big emotions and he hates making mistakes. So he just erased this kid.

Terry wonders if he’d have done the same thing, if Terry had died.

"He's not dead now," Terry says. "I think he's kind of pissed, though."

Bruce winces. "Maybe not entirely--Well. Never mind. You need to get him out of here. I don't want him to see me when he wakes up. Not yet."

"Wh--Okay, okay," Terry says. Really, really wanted to go to bed. This is his first night back on the street. He has a _test_ in the morning. Making things normal would be so much easier if he could just go to bed right now. "Where do you want me to put him, exactly?"

Bruce hesitates. "The house is big. One of the spare rooms. We'll deal with him tomorrow." He won't stop looking at Jason, but he won't come closer, either.

"Tomorrow?" Terry says. "What about when he wakes up tonight? Wait, what do you mean you don't want him to see you first? I have things to do tomorrow, you know. During the day. When you're not my boss. And I don’t--"

"Shut up," Bruce growls. He looks pained. "I'm trying to decide what to do. He could be insane. He could be dangerous. He could--We don't know what he wants."

On the floor, Jason groans.

"So far all I know is that he wants to punch me," Terry says. "But let's be real, who doesn't?" He bends down to pick Jason up again. "Do I let him see my face or not?"

That, Bruce has a ready answer for. "No. Not yet. For all we know, it's not really him."

"So I get to sit up all night with a crazy guy who wants to punch me, wearing a batsuit," Terry says, walking away. "Awesome, boss. Sounds like a plan. Best night ever."

Jason is quickly becoming more wakeful as Terry transports him to an unoccupied room. He frowns in his sleep, eyelids twitching like he's fighting to wake up, or just fighting.

Terry is not having fun. 

He gets Jason to a room, all right, and locks the door behind them. If this is going to be less sitting up and more beating up, tomorrow is going to suck even more than he's been anticipating. This is close to literally the last thing Terry needs to be dealing with right now.

Almost as soon as Terry sets him down and gets the door locked, Jason opens his eyes.

"Fuck," he says.

"So," Terry says. "You're Robin, huh?"

"That's what I said!" Jason snaps, right back on track. "What, you had to handcuff me and bring me to some musty old house before you--oh. Right. We're in the m-manor." He gives Terry a look that's half rueful, half frightened. “We’re really here.”

"So now I believe you," Terry says. "Or at least, I believe there was a Robin named Jason and you look a lot like him. Guess everything else is still under suspicion."

Jason gets quiet and looks at Terry for a long moment. Then he says, "Where is he?"

"Around," Terry says.

Jason's face darkens. "Doesn't want to see me, huh? So he sends the new boy to do his dirty work. But that's not right. You're not Robin. What’d you do to him?"

"I'm not Robin," Terry agrees. "I didn’t do anything to him. I don't think it's a dirty work thing. And I'm pretty sure he does want to see you."

Jason laughs. It still sounds fairly unhinged. "You sound like--not _me_ , because I'm not a fucking idiot, but maybe the first one. Nightwing. I don't know if you know his real name."

"I told you," Terry says. "I've met him."

"I've _met_ you," Jason sneers. "But I don't know your name. I don't know, it's the fucking future, flying cars and shit, you're probably all named Zed or Aiden or something."

"Yeah," Terry says. "Good guessing. He wasn't wearing the suit, smart guy. I know his name. The other ones, too, but I guess you don't know them. After your--time. Sorry." He wishes Bruce had given him maybe five seconds' worth of ideas for what to _say_.

Jason gives him a look that's flat-out _wounded_. "Jesus, how many has he _had_? This is kind of sick."

"Uh," says Terry. Again. "Sorry. I don't really know what we're supposed to talk about, here. I think it was just the one, after you. And Batgirl. Me he didn't exactly go looking for."

"You came to him," Jason says bitterly. "I've heard that one before. Trust me, kid, you have no idea what you're getting into." He doesn't sound entirely sincere, and certainly not any less wounded.

"Well, I broke into his basement," Terry says. "You know."

Jason flashes Terry a _real_ smile. "And I tried to rob him. Welcome to the delinquent club. If you're lucky, you'll end up like me."

"Great," Terry says. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," Jason says, not particularly vindictively. "So, uh, any chance you'll tell me what year it is? I only ask 'cause I can't get my hands free and punch you out."

"Twenty-forty-three," Terry says. "And yeah. I kinda figured."

Jason blinks. "That's--worse than I thought." His eyes look more than a little crazy. "I, oh god. But he's still--? Obviously. Okay. Okay. I don't know why I'm here."

Terry shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "You're the one who attacked me, y'know. Maybe you could tell me how you figured out I was active and where I was working tonight before you even figured out what year it was."

"Some things have to come first," Jason says. He shakes his head. "I tried to find him first, of course. I thought maybe you killed him."

"Oh,” Terry says. “Okay, yeah. No one else thought I was Batman at first, either.”

"You're not treating me like a supervillain," Jason says flatly. "Why?"

"Are you a supervillain?" Terry asks.

"I have no fucking idea,” Jason says. "I don’t think so. I think I’m a crazy homeless person who wound up running around Gotham after—” He frowns. "I don’t know. It’s gone."

"So, basically, there's no reason for me to think you're a supervillain, except you punched me in the face," Terry says. "Guys at school used to do _that_. I don't think it automatically qualifies you."

Jason snorts. "Oh, you're that kind. I was the kind who did the punching. Well, no, I wasn't the kind who really went to school. And you're really telling me you're Batman? You sound about twelve."

"Look who's talking," Terry says. He doesn't think it's worth mentioning that he did just as much punching as the other guys. Not really a pissing contest he feels like entering, at the moment. He’s lost some lately.

Jason stiffens. "Can you--Look, just take the cuffs off. Or I'll probably break my arms trying to get out." He arches his back alarmingly.

"The old man is not going to appreciate this," Terry says. He figures Bruce is watching, actually, because he is exactly the kind of person who keeps surveillance cameras hidden in his spare rooms. But if Bruce is going to dump his dead ex-sidekick (and whatever else, because Terry’s been on Dick’s good side lately) on Terry without any instructions at all, Terry is going to do it his way until something better comes along. Even so--He's got a remote for the cuffs, and he's got the suit for himself, but he's still pretty sure, as he's hitting the release, that this is not going to go as well as it could go.

Jason gives a little yelp, and for a second he doesn't move. Then his hands are free and he's rolling to his feet, backing away, fists up. He doesn't strike immediately, which might be a good sign.

"Listen," Terry says, "I'm kind of out of the loop, here. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know anything about you. So I'm not out to get you, okay?" Really he's just buying time at this point. The old man is gonna--well, no, he's probably not going to make up for this. But Terry really wishes that for once he _would_.

"I need to see him," Jason says wildly. His emotions are changing at the drop of a hat. "I need to see _myself_." He looks at his hands in front of him.

"Yeah," Terry says. "Okay. Yeah. Hang on." He patches in to Bruce, and says, "Hey, old man, you really should come up here. You know. Any time. Bring a mirror, maybe? What kind of spare bedroom doesn't have a mirror in it anyway?"

Bruce is silent for long enough that Terry thinks he might not answer. Then he says, "I--can't."

Jason, across the room, is quivering with tension. "I'll kill him," he remarks calmly.

"It would be...really...helpful." Terry says evenly.

"Be there in five." Bruce says, and it surprises Terry before it doesn’t.

"He's coming?" Jason asks.

"Yeah," Terry says. "He's coming." He has to fight to keep his voice even. He knows that two months ago, a threat like that wouldn’t have made Bruce budge. Two months ago, Bruce trusted Terry to stay alive.

"I might still kill him," Jason says. "Hey--Got a question. Important one. Just occurred to me."

Terry swallows. He shouldn't be too worried. He knows he can take this guy, at least while he's suited up. Probably. Except, Jason doesn't seem to have a lot in the way of inhibitions, and that can really add to someone's hitting power.

Jason takes a few steps toward Terry, fists still raised. "You might wanna think about it, because it could make a big difference in what happens next in your life. Is the Joker alive?"

Terry chokes up. There's an obvious right answer to this one, but it's not the truth, and all he can actually think is, _Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Jason when it happened?_ And then there’s everything else, threatening to clog his mind up so fully that he can’t see what’s in front of him.

"Oh good," Jason says lightly, "you're thinking about it. "So--it's the future, right? Bruce has got to be getting up there. Not as strong as he used to be. Of course not, if you're Batman. So if you answer my question and it's not an answer I like, when he walks in that door, he's done."

"I won't let you do that," Terry says.

"Can you stop me?" Jason demands. "Answer my question, kid." He launches himself at Terry, fists flying.

Terry blocks, but Jason's weight still throws him against the wall and knocks the breath out of him. 

"He was gone," Terry growls. "For forty years. No one knew he was alive. He wasn’t. We looked."

"He was gone?" Jason demands. " _Gone?_ Where the hell did you think he _went?_ " He presses the heel of his hand to Terry's throat.

Terry gasps and shoves Jason backwards. 

"How should I know?" he demands. "He was dead! I wasn’t even born the last time Joker was around." 

"Not even born," Jason repeats hollowly. "Fuck, that's--that's so weird."

He looks like he's going to say something else, but Bruce opens the door, moving fast, even with the cane. "Jason," he says.

Jason stares.

Terry keeps his eyes on him, ignoring Bruce, because if one of them is going to make a move, it's Jason's move he wants to catch in time.

Then Jason laughs. "You got old." He sounds a little hysterical.

"It _is_ you," Bruce says. Now that he's inside, he's not coming any closer. "How?"

Jason shrugs. "Hell if I know."

Terry kind of wants to ask if he can take off his mask yet. Instead he just says, "Well, as long as you're not the brainwashed puppet of a supervillain, this is a good thing, right?"

The corner of Jason's mouth twitches. "Yeah, I really lucked out, huh? So how many have there been in between me and this guy, Bruce?"

"He's not Robin," Bruce says. "No more Robins. Not after--"

" _Me?_ " Jason snaps. "That's a lie, Bruce. I might have been half nuts, but this kid knew about two Robins, and I wasn't one of them."

Terry shrugs. "Sorry, boss. You didn't really give me any guidelines."

Bruce grits his teeth. "It doesn't matter. He would have found out sooner or later." He looks back at Jason. "There was only one other. But that's best left until later."

"Yeah, because we have so much important healing to do right now," Jason says. "The Joker, Bruce. What happened to the Joker?"

Bruce just shakes his head.

"Not trying to start anything," Terry says, "but what exactly is going to change if you don't talk about it now?"

"He'll be able to weasel out of it," Jason says promptly. He shoots Terry a sideways glance. "Bet you get that all the time, huh?"

"All the time," Terry agrees.

"Stop that!" Bruce says. "This isn't helping anything. He was killed. But--" He looks Jason over. "You know death doesn't always stick around here."

"You're still not answering a pretty important question," Jason says.

It's making Terry mad on his own behalf, that Bruce isn't saying anything. Bruce didn't tell him about Jason. Bruce didn't tell him about Tim until too late. Bruce didn't tell him how easy it is for Joker to just _keep on being alive._

"He's not dead," Terry says. He keeps on ignoring Bruce, and keeps on watching for Jason to make a move. It's completely possible that Jason will make a move. But Terry isn't going to lie about _this._

"I need to know," Jason says slowly and carefully, "who killed him the first time."

Terry swallows. He knows that all the answers are the wrong answers. But he wasn't there. He can't give them, and he can't make them sound any better. He's not even tired anymore, but he can't _think._

But Bruce knows what answer Jason needs. "It wasn't me," he says.

Jason shouts incoherently and throws himself at Bruce, knocking the cane away and throwing Bruce against the door.

Terry dives after him and pulls him back, although Jason is fighting so hard that he can barely do that.

Jason throws a few punches at Terry, but he's not focused or fighting rationally, he's just trying to hit Bruce as many times as he can.

Bruce grunts and tries to roll out of the way, but his limbs are stiff, and Jason is too angry.

"What does it take?" Jason shouts. "What does it fucking take, Bruce?"

Calm down!" Terry says, which is the absolute worst thing to say, but it comes out anyway.

"Calm down?" Jason roars. "How many kids does he have to murder, Bruce? What happened to the one after me? What's going to happen to this one? No more. First you, then him. That's what I'm going to do."

The worst thing is that Jason is right, and Terry almost wants to let go. For a second, he can't even see why he shouldn't. Then he shakes Jason, hard, and says, "Bruce. Get out."

Bruce gets to his feet with relative grace, retrieves his cane, and stares at the two of them. "If you need backup, I can take him out," he says. Then he leaves.

Jason stares after him. "He always knows just what to say, huh?"

"Some things don't change?" Terry guesses. He lets Jason go but puts himself in front of the door.

"I'm not going after him," Jason says. True to his word, he slumps against the dresser. "It's not worth it. So why are you doing this? For Gotham? For him? Because if it's for him, you're just as stupid as the rest of us."

Terry shrugs uncomfortably. "There's a reason I'm not at an Ivy like my best pals in high school," he says. "I mean, aside from the flexible course schedule offered by a community college."

"College," Jason says scornfully. "I didn't have time for _high school_. Sounds like you're more along the lines of Dick than anyone else. A _good boy_. Well, at least Dick's still alive."

"And settled down," Terry says. "What you asked, though--it's not just about Bruce. First it was about my dad. Then it was kind of about Bruce. And now it's about--other things." The rest of his family. And himself. It makes things a lot worse, knowing all of a sudden that one of them _has_ ended up dead, dealing with the Joker.

Jason looks at him, hard. "Batman, huh?" He shakes his head. "You're doing it better than he did, so far, least as far as I can tell. Just don't get in bed with him, no matter how much of a good idea it seems like. He'll break your little heart. Advice from the top." He's almost lounging against the dresser now.

"Whoops," says Terry, which he probably shouldn't.

Jason's laugh sounds surprised this time, and much saner. "Well, shit. Can't win 'em all. So what the hell are you gonna do with me now, anyway?"

"I have no idea," Terry says. "I can't even tell if it's more embarrassing to keep the mask on any longer or take it off.

Jason shrugs. "It won't mean anything if you take it off. I won't know you. I can already make a few guesses, anyway. Black hair, blue eyes. That kind of thing."

"How we roll," Terry says. "Is it fate? Is it a fetish? We'll never know." His face is hot and it feels disingenuous to stand around hiding in front of someone he's kind of picking apart. He takes the mask off.

Jason whistles. "Nice. You're a cutie. And you're older than I thought."

"Like I said," Terry answers. "Look who's talking. Punk."

"Punk probably isn't even a thing anymore," Jason says mournfully. "Listen, can I crash here without Bruce wiring me up to things or feeling me up in my sleep? Just for tonight."

"Jesus," says Terry. "I hope so. I guess I can stick around and be firm with him. Because that usually works."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? So, what, he answers to you? Why, because you're Batman? Or because he's finally decided to wants someone to dominate the shit out of him?"

Terry chokes on a laugh. "I was being sarcastic," he says. "But, you know. I can try."

"Good boy," Jason says. "I'll try not to do any crazy zombie things in the night."

"Sure," Terry says. "Like, if I leave you here right now and talk to Bruce, are you going to wait in a doorway and jump me on my way back?"

"No," Jason says, flinging himself down on the bed, "I'm gonna go to sleep."

Terry hesitates. "Okay," he says. "Sounds good."

It doesn't sound good, because it doesn't sound true. Terry leaves the room backwards, and keeps an eye out all the way down to the cave. He does not feel like getting followed and ambushed. 

"Well," he says, when he gets down there.

Bruce is holding an ice pack to his forehead when Terry comes in. He's also watching a monitor, but he shuts it off when he turns around. "Well," he says.

"Bruce," Terry says. "Really. Don't do that."

Bruce sighs. "Don't do _which?_ How is he?"

"Don't watch him on any creepy video feeds," Terry says. "He's--I don't know, how was he usually? Pissed off that you didn't kill the Joker, apparently. Also he told me not to sleep with you."

"Mm," Bruce says. "Terry, I--I realize I could have told you more. Sooner. But there wasn't any need."

"Probably at about the time when the Joker showed up and almost killed me," Terry says, "most people would have seen a need."

"I know," Bruce says. "I--I'm sorry. But the mistakes I made with Jason--and the mistakes he made--won't be repeated."

"Of course not," Terry says, "since I have no idea what they are. Did it involve doing stupid things to save your family? Because I think I could actually get pretty into that."

Bruce swears under his breath, something Terry rarely hears him do. "It was my fault. Just like Tim was my fault. I brought them in and they got hurt. I already warned you off, but you wouldn't listen. What do the details matter?"

Terry's shoulders slump. "Maybe they don't," he says. "But it might be nice if I got to decide which details matter. Details are what get people killed." He turns away. "He's crashing here tonight. I'm hanging out. Don't watch."

Bruce makes no promises either way. He just says, "Don't get attached. We still don't know why he's here, or for how long. Or what he'll do."

"That's why I'm going to _hang out,"_ Terry says. "Maybe he shouldn't end up dead again."

Bruce turns back to the bank of computers. "You don't know how much I want that. But I'm not getting my hopes up."

"Exactly what we all need," Terry mutters. He climbs out of the bat suit and leaves it by the door without speaking, and climbs back upstairs feeling about how he expected.

When Terry comes back into Jason's room, Jason is not immediately apparent. He's not in the bed, that's for sure. Then he comes flying across the room from somewhere--the closet?--and starts pummeling Terry. He's barefoot and jacketless, but he still hits very hard.

Taking off the suit was maybe _not_ the best idea, Terry thinks. But he wasn't a total lightweight pre-Batman, and he's in a lot better shape now. He ducks away and protects his head with one arm, and then spins around with a punch that catches Jason right on the jaw. That gets him to back off a little, anyway.

Jason is sobbing, tears running down his cheeks as he attacks Terry, and although Terry's punch throws him off, he's not worrying too much about getting hurt. He attacks Terry again, using his fingernails as well as his fists.

Terry breaks off and then rushes him, tackling him to the floor.

"Hey!" he says loudly. " _Wake up."_

Maybe Jason has just had enough time to decide he really does hate Terry's guts, but Terry doesn't think that's it.

Jason makes a strangled noise and stops struggling.

"Uh," he says.

"Yeah," Terry says. "Sorry. Can I...let you up without you trying to kill me?"

"I think so," Jason says slowly. "Did _not_ mean to do that."

"Figured," Terry says tiredly.

"Listen," Jason says, ruffling his hair, "you can leave me here. Lock me in or whatever. I don't think I can break out." He doesn't look thrilled about the idea.

"Said I'd stay," Terry says. He doesn't know why. He feels like he's about to fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, and he doesn't even know this guy.

Except he does. This guy is him, and Tim Drake, and Dick Grayson, except unlike the other two, this one's still young. Maybe there's enough time for him to be okay.

Maybe not, and Terry should _not_ be getting this invested. But what can you do, right?

Jason looks visibly relieved. "Guess you do have a couple good things in common with Bruce. Thanks. I'll try not to attack you again." He gets up and puts himself sideways on the bed, already boneless with exhaustion. With his eyes shut and only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he looks as young as he probably is.

"Appreciate it, kiddo," Terry says. "Get some sleep." He wants some sleep himself, but it's obviously not going to happen yet.


	2. i'll check in tomorrow (if i don't wake up dead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: death and confusion, references to underaged / age difference sex

The next morning, Jason wakes up. His first thought is to hurt--kill, if possible--anyone in the room. This time, though, he catches himself. Right. The new Batman. Not a threat. At least, not a threat just yet. He pulls himself into a sitting position and blinks around the familiar room.

New Batman is sitting up in a chair, street clothes, arms crossed, head tilted forward at what looks like a hugely uncomfortable angle. He might have tried to stay awake all night, but it clearly didn't go so well.

Jason smiles crookedly. He seems like a nice kid. Man. Guy. It's too bad he's probably going to wind up dead. Of course, Jason could just sneak out of here right now, catch a bus out of Gotham, and never hear anything about Bruce or this guy ever again. Then again, Bruce probably has alarms on the doors. He shivers. He suddenly wishes Bruce would come in, or the new guy would wake up, or anything.

"Hey," he says.

Baby Batman jolts awake with a noise like, " _Hwuahh?"_.

Jason chuckles. "You look like shit. Sorry I ruined your night. Thought I'd warn I'm feeling--murderous." That's not accurate, of course. Last night he was. Now he just feels sad and scared.

"Yeah," Terry says, trying to clear his head and mostly failing. "You look like a real killer." A young, worried, angry killer. It happens, and Terry knows that, but looking at Jason doesn't make him want to think about the odds that he'll go wrong and never get right again.

Jason frowns. "I was," he says lightly. "Sort of. I'll tell you about it sometime."

"If you want," Terry says. "I mean, if you're sticking around. Are you sticking around? Probably kind of early to ask that."

"Ask Bruce if he'll let me leave." But Jason already knows the answer. Bruce doesn't let anything go.

"You want me to ask?" Terry says. "I'll ask."

"Wait," Jason says quickly, "I didn't mean--I'm not saying I want to, necessarily. Where would I go? My dad's dead. My mom's--I don't have anyplace to be, basically." He swallows and looks at the ceiling.

Terry doesn't have anything to say to that. Well, maybe a couple things, but they're not useful.

"Did I tell you my name?” he asks.

“No,” Jason says. “Why?”

“Wondered," Terry says. "It’s Terry. McGinnis. Where did those clothes come from, anyway? You sure weren’t buried in that. Where did _you_ come from?"

"I told you," Jason says, trying not to trip over the horrifying things Terry is saying, “I don’t know. I’ve been on the streets for a couple of—days, maybe? Weeks? Yeah. A couple weeks. I was somewhere before. I just--don't remember where." If he tries to think about it, his head hurts.

"Fair enough," Terry says. "Stick around awhile and we might even figure it out." He leans to one side until his back pops. "Hey, you hungry?"

"Starving," Jason says. "I haven't eaten in a couple days. I think."

”Come on,” says Terry. “We can raid the old man's fridge. Maybe go shopping later? Unless you want to wear that one outfit forever."

Jason's going to have to watch it, or he'll get clingy. Thankfully, clingy comes off as aggressive at first. "Fuck off."

"For real?" Terry says. "No, you want food, right, kid? And I'm gonna have a killer headache if I don't drink about a pound of coffee. Come on. You can cuss me out while my caffeine is brewing."

Jason doesn't like being called kid by anybody, and especially not by baby Batman. "I hate coffee," he says. "But I'll take some water or whatever." A shower would also be great. And, yeah, some new clothes. It would also be ideal if Bruce didn't show up to breakfast, but Jason isn't about to ask for that.

"I didn't even offer you coffee," Terry says, which is true even if maybe it shouldn't be, because he was kind of imagining an entire bag to himself. His temples are already starting to smart.

"Because you're an asshole." Jason wraps his arms around himself. "Where'd my jacket go?" He probably ripped it off last night when he was trying to murder Terry. He grabs a blanket and slings it over his shoulders. He's not really cold, but you know.

"Um," Terry says, looking around like it'll help. "I'm really not sure. Sorry. I'm kinda crabby in the morning." He starts out of the room and hopes Jason decides to tag along. Minus trying to kill him or whatnot.

Jason follows slowly, still barefoot. Everything around him is surreal in its familiarity, from the picture frames to the feeling of the floor to the quiet. He comes to a jarring halt in the middle of the hall. "Uh," he says, "is Alfred--?"

Terry stops and turns back to Jason. He doesn't know who that is, which is probably a sign that he isn't going to have the right answer. "I don't--" he starts.

Jason feels, for the first time since he came back, tiny. This is the future. Wake up. "Oh," he says hoarsely. "Right, yeah. Okay. No Alfred."

Terry shakes his head, at a loss. "I'm sorry. I don't even know who that--was he close to you?"

"Yeah," Jason says quietly. "He was Bruce's--butler, I guess, but not just that. He was kind of like a dad, if Bruce had a dad. Only better. He took care of things." Who takes care of things now?

Well, that makes Terry feel terrible. Because there was definitely no Alfred when Terry showed up four years ago. Just Bruce and his dog. It's a good dog, but if that had been enough then Bruce wouldn't be...Bruce.

"Wish he'd let me do that," Terry says.

"Doesn't he?" Jason asks. "Because honestly, I think he'd be dead otherwise." That makes him feel a little better, although this whole situation is still too weird. He still can't get over the fact that Bruce _quit_.

Terry's about to object, but then he remembers how stupid that would be.

"That's kind of how we met, actually," he says. "Before I broke into his basement?" They reach the kitchen and he turns back to hold the door and give Jason a rueful smile.

Jason stares at Terry for a second before going through. His back prickles when Terry is behind him. "So, that," he says. "You being Batman. How'd it happen? Because I thought he'd _die_ on the job."

"Short version?" Terry says. "Saved the old man's life when he was trying to fight crime at like, nine hundred years old, broke in to check on him, almost got eaten by the dog, found the batcave, decided a batsuit might be kinda useful for getting justice for my old man. Turned out I was actually pretty okay at it, _and_ I wasn't a heart attack risk."

Jason brightens up. "Ace? Ace is alive?"

"Uh," Terry says. "How old is that dog?"

"Forever old," Jason says gleefully. He kicks out a chair and sits down, back to the wall.

“It’s probably not the same dog,” Terry says, guilty for getting Jason’s hopes up.

“Hah,” says Jason. “Yeah. You’re right. Damn. Thought it might make up for Bruce being all old and shit.”

"Believe me," Terry says, "I don't like that either. And I'm used to him that way."

"Can I go back to being dead?" Jason asks. It's probably the wrong thing to say.

"How about orange juice?" Terry says. "Pretty sure there's also prune."

Jason wrinkles his nose. "Orange," he says. Now that he's knows Terry isn't a teenager, he feels a lot younger and stupider. His head still isn't totally clear, either. "Do you work?"

"Uh," Terry says. "Sort of." It's already obvious that Jason is going to ream him for this.

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Well, what? Are you a hooker? That's okay. I know hookers."

"Lucky them," Terry says It comes off less sincere than it is. "Is 'hooker' also a word for 'Mr. Wayne's personal assistant'?"

Jason stares. "Uh. _Yes?_ "

"Thought so," Terry says. He flips the kettle on and thinks really hard about coffee. The coffee here is always good.

"Which double answers the question of whether you're fucking," Jason says. "Continuing a proud old tradition." He's just talking to keep from panicking, but it's okay, because no one will ever talk as much as Terry.

"You're gonna make me blush," Terry says, not blushing at all. Enough reporters have asked him that question point-blank that it's lost a lot of its shock value. At some point he'll answer it honestly, and then Bruce will give him hell.

Just the same, "You've got a cute blush," Jason says automatically, wondering if it's true.

"You wouldn't know," Terry says. "But it's nice that you're thinking about it."

"I’ll find out," Jason says. He kicks the table leg. "Think Bruce's still in bed?" In the old days, Jason would have crawled in there and woken him up. And probably gotten shaken around for his trouble. You know, nicely.

"Who knows?" Terry says, and then his headache spikes. "Argh," he adds, and leans over on the counter to grip his head in his hands. "Cereal and eggs and whatever," he mumbles helpfully.

"What, can't cook?" Jason asks. "No Robin can cook. It's a rule." He should stop calling Terry a Robin, but he can't. It's a horrifying defense mechanism, and it freaks him out more than it helps, but he can't stop.

"I can cook," Terry says. "Just fine. But my head. Feels like it's on fire. Cut me some slack."

"Coffee first," Jason says. He gets up and pushes past Terry to the fridge, his back still tensing when he can't see Terry head-on.

Terry manages to reach out and grab the kettle before it can boil, realizes that he hasn't put any coffee in the pot, and lurches over to the freezer. 

"We could have normal coffee," he says. "Drip coffee. Pod coffee. But no. Some pretentious asshole was like, let's have a French press. Don’t need anything but a French press." He tries to measure out tablespoons with his eyes shut.

Jason digs cereal out of the pantry in silence. This is too familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He can see how Terry is like Bruce. Maybe what Bruce would have been like, if he hadn't been completely unhinged.

Terry manages to set up the coffee pot, and then puts it and himself down at the table with a thump. 

"So, new rule," he says. "If I sleep with you again, I'm not doing it in a chair."

Jason laughs, startled. "I like you," he says, finding bowls. "You've got his sense of humor. Bet you fuck like him, too." He's mostly playing. He aches all over and he's starving. Sex isn't foremost in his thoughts, although it's always up there.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Terry says.

"Then again, he's never loosened up like you," Jason says. Bruce is only funny to a point. "Sorry about--you know. Trying to kill you." He's not so sure he won't do it again, but for now, he's sorry.

"Literally every day of my life," Terry says. "Don't sweat it." He inches over to the coffee pot and sucks up some of the fumes through his nose.

"So," Jason says, pouring cereal, "the Joker got the one after me, huh?"

Terry manages to pick his head up for that one. 

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I mean, he's alive."

Jason shivers and feels his face close off. Is that worse? It might be worse. "You want an egg, too?" he asks. His voice comes out small.

"Yeah, I want an egg," Terry says. "Thanks. Do you want to know about this?"

Of course Jason wants to know, but--"Not right now," he says. He goes back to the fridge. For the milk. For the eggs. "Maybe tomorrow. This is all kind of a lot, you know?"

"Yeah," Terry says. He's trying not to feel guilty, because it's not his fault that after they got rid of the fake Joker, the real Joker came back. It's not his fault he didn't do better than any of the rest.

He doesn’t want to have to tell Jason that it’s still happening.

Jason slides into a chair and pushes a plate toward Terry. "Is Batgirl around anymore?" He almost doesn't want to know.

"Yeah!" Terry says. "I mean, she's older. Forty years older, I guess. But she's pretty spry. She's the police commissioner."

"Really?" Jason grins with relief. "I mean, not surprising, I guess, but--wow! Good for her. Is she gonna be mad I'm back?"

"She'll be mad if _I_ tell her," Terry says. "I bug the crap out of her." He pulls the plate closer and pushes down the plunger on the coffee press.

Jason kind of likes the idea of talking to Barbara. It's the least terrifying option at the moment, anyway. "And what about Bruce? Is he okay? Is he mad? Freaked out? Bruised?" Jason isn't too sorry if he's bruised.

"Worried, I think," Terry says. Guilty is his other guess. Bruce gets quiet and commanding in a really specific way when he feels like he's screwed up.

"About him?" Jason asks. He finds a frying pan and oil. "Or about you?" Not about himself, obviously.

"What?" Terry says too quickly.

Jason turns the heat up and dumps the oil on (crap, too much) and cracks the eggs on top. "You know,” he says, picking out shell. “Because I'm a crazy supervillain who wants to kill you? Or, you know, whatever I am." He doesn't like the look on Terry's face.

"Oh," says Terry. "No. He’s worried about you."

"Yeah," Jason says. "Well. A little late to worry about me."

"Naw," Terry says. He looks at the coffee like he’s contemplating just pouring it down his throat, but he pours it into his cup instead. "You just got a fresh start on getting worried about. And I'm pretty sure everybody in this house has attacked _somebody_ in their sleep before. Including the dog."

"I think I like the dog," Jason says. He gives Terry a fierce little smile. Not quite friendly yet. But no teeth.

"Good dog," Terry agrees. He puts milk in it, and on his cereal at the same time, but no sugar. Coffee down the hatch.

Jason watches with disgust. "Good dog," he repeats.

"That's right," Terry says, setting down his cup and picking up his spoon. Then he stops. "For what it's worth," he says, "I want the Joker dead, too."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "You do?" Why would Terry say it, otherwise? He frowns. "Well, so does Bruce. But he hasn't done anything about it, and I'm guessing you won't, either."

"Hah," says Terry, but he doesn't manage a smile. "I'm not the old man, all right?"

"I don't know that yet," Jason says. "I mean, I do, but not exactly how. Do you kill people? You know, as a rule?"

"No," says Terry. "I don't."

Jason nods. "Yeah. I figured. So wanting him dead doesn't do much good."

"That's not what I said," Terry says, and he should shut up, but someone's got to be on this kid's side while Bruce is hiding out, and Terry doesn't want to pretend he's not it.

Jason narrows his eyes and then focuses on his eggs for a while. "Huh," he says.

Terry doesn’t speak again until Jason is coming over with his best efforts at eggs on plates.

“Sorry about these,” he says. 

Terry says, "You don't think Joker would come back to life and _not_ fuck with the new guy, right?" Jason sets the plates down with a thunk. "No such luck, buddy,” Terry tells him. “Anyway, who doesn't wish the Joker was dead?"

Jason shivers and rubs the back of his neck. He knows how bad the Joker can be. Obviously. "Sorry," he says. "Sorry he fucked with you. Sorry I didn't know to take him out when I was alive."

"No one's taken him out," Terry says. "Not for good. And drop the _when you were alive_ stuff. You obviously _are_ alive. Let’s keep it that way."

Jason hadn't really realized until just now that he was assuming he wouldn't stick around. "You sure about that?" he says woodenly.

"Doesn't seem like you're made of vapor or we're hallucinating you or whatever," Terry says. "I mean, do _you_ think we're in a glitched up VR game and none of this is real? I don't think so. Also, who cares? You're here, we're here, it’s a thing." He brightens. "Which is the best thing ever, by the way. I always thought one little brother wasn't enough."

"You have a brother?" Jason says, but it comes out all strangled and weird. He means, _You want me,_ but he can't say that even in his head. Maybe it’s Dick that Terry is like.

"Yeah," Terry says, swallowing. "A few years younger than you, I guess. But I, ah. Haven't seen him in a while. Joker." He tries not to look as angry as that makes him.

“Hiding out?” Jason asks.

“You know,” Terry says. “Laying low.”

Jason bites his lip. "This job is shit," he says. "It's _shit_. Okay?" He isn't sure how much he means that. Not as much as Dick. Probably not as much as the one who came after.

Terry laughs. "You know, I don't know what's wrong with me. I wouldn't ever say that."

“Because you don't swear or because you don't believe it?" Jason shakes his head. "Listen, I loved it. Every fucking second. Made me feel--ha. Alive. But it turns out that doesn't work when the guy in charge is an asshole. Maybe _that's_ why you believe so much. He's not Batman anymore."

"Doesn't mean he's not in charge," Terry says. He hopes this room's not bugged. "It just means I was a stubborn punk who wouldn't let someone throw me off by being a jackass. Still am, I guess."

"Do you like him?" Jason asks. It's a fair question.

"Can't help it," Terry says. "I had to rescue him from bad guys the first time we met, I've had the worst soft spot ever for like, four years."

Jason gets that. Protecting Bruce is something he isn't sure Dick ever really understood as a priority, but Jason was all about that. And now--"Sorry I tried to kill him, I guess," he says.

"That would've been a problem, if you’d done it," Terry agrees.

"So what now?" Jason asks. "I mean, don't you have to debrief me or something? Or put me in quarantine? Nobody, including me, knows what I might try." For all he knows, some new supervillain brought him back for evil. Or he's just losing his mind. He had uncomfortable dreams.

"Yeah," Terry says. "You know, I've got all that in mind, but I think the bigger problem is that if you're alive, Joker's gonna notice."

Jason wants, for five seconds, _not_ to think about the Joker. "Fuck."

"Right," Terry says. "Sorry. I wish it weren't an issue."

"So let's make it a non-issue as fast as we can," Jason snaps. His heart's not in it, though. Now that he's been awake for a little while, he's remembering how to be afraid.

Terry nods. "Don't worry, kid, I wasn't planning to let it lie." He waves his fork. "We're just not doing _that_ great at _finding_ him."

"He won't lay low for long," Jason says darkly. "Not unless a lot's changed. The timing, though--You think him and me came back the same way?"

Terry hesitates. "I don't know," he says. "Honestly, I've got no idea." If someone cooked this up, they must be completely sick.

Jason pushes a piece of egg off his plate onto the table. "Great. So I'm guessing I'm under house arrest."

"That would probably be the smartest," Terry says, not really like he thinks it's gonna happen. "Let me talk to Bruce before you do anything stupid, okay, kid?"

Jason bristles. "Don't call me kid, okay? Or I'll kick your teeth in and you'll find out how much of a kid I am. Some of us didn't grow up middle-class and anxious. Some of us grew up hard."

He's mostly angry about Bruce, though.

"Sorry," Terry says, without batting an eyelash.

Jason thumps the table, frustrated. "I--fuck, I'm not trying to be--I think we should see if Bruce is up."

Terry nods. "If he's not, he should be. What do you wanna bet he's just sulking in the cave?"

"Bet he was up all night doing it," Jason says, meeting Terry's eyes and actually smiling. He's trying really hard, here. They both are.

"Yuck," Terry says. "Let's go?" He gets up, and Jason follows him with his plate in hand. 

Bruce is just where Terry guessed he would be, in the cave, staring moodily at the computer. He shuts closed whatever he is looking at as soon as Terry and Jason walk in. He looks bruised, but not as badly as they might have expected.

"McGinnis," he says.

"We got as far as breakfast and then figured out we don't know what we're doing next," Terry says, ignoring the fact that Bruce is ignoring Jason. " Got any bright ideas, boss?"

"I can tell you what you're not doing," Bruce says, still not looking at Jason. "He's not leaving the house. And you're not telling Barbara about this. Not yet."

"Great," Jason says sharply, hurt. "You know how much I love being cooped up indoors."

"Don't you think she'd better know?" Terry says. "She'll kill you if she finds out later."

Bruce pauses. Then he grits his teeth and says, "You're right."

"Whoa, he's mellowing out in his old age," Jason says, actually surprised.

Terry looks at him brightly. "I'm a good influence," he says. "You should have seen him when I got here. Like an angry fossil."

"I'm not any less angry now," Bruce says, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a reluctant smile. He glances toward his monitors. "Well, Jason? Will you stay inside?"

"For my own good, or the world's?" Jason asks.

"It can't be permanent," Terry says. "Come on, Bruce. It didn't work on me, did it? There's gotta be some other options."

Bruce sets his jaw and glares at his hands. "Hm. We'll think about it. After we run some tests. Jason, how--how do you feel?"

"I feel like this sucks!" Jason says. "Come on, Bruce, I know I attacked you last night, but Christ! You're supposed to be my best friend, my boyfriend, my partner! And now you can't even _look_ at me?"

Terry bites his lip and wonders how far out of the way he can get and still be close enough to stop it if one of them gets stupid.

Bruce frowns stubbornly at the ground, as though the outburst hasn’t happened. "We need to take this slowly. We don't even know why you're back."

Jason spins around, looking for something to smash, but nothing in here is breakable. Well, maybe the case with the suits--He stops, staring. That's a lot of suits. A lot, but not--

"Okay," Terry says. "I agree we should be careful. But exactly what are we gonna be careful doing? Because if I were Jay, here, I'd get bored fast. Also I'd want to know what I was doing here before it drove me nuts."

Jason swallows, looking at Terry now. "Yeah," he says quietly. Maybe it wouldn't suck to be this guy's little brother.

"All right," Bruce says. "Just--give us time to follow up a few leads, Jason. Give us time to check you out. Talk to a few people. We want to make sure you're safe."

Which is still an ambiguous way to put it, Jason thinks.

Terry doesn't say, _You want to make sure he's really Jason._ He's going to, later. For now he just says, "Think we can get him to the commish or the commish to him without too much risk?"

"Yes," Bruce says reluctantly. "We'll bring her here. She won't come to the cave, but...upstairs."

"Maybe you can give her a call, I can drive over in a while to pick her up?" Terry says. "Think I'm gonna show Jay around the house, so he can see what you've done with the place."

Jason doesn't know if that will be weird or helpful, but he knows he doesn't like being down here with all these empty suits. Besides, the longer he spends with Terry, the more grounded he feels.

"Let's do it," he says.

"All right," Bruce says, staring at Terry as if he's trying to read his mind.

"Great," Terry says. "See ya in a bit, old man."

"Wait for me," Jason says quickly, as Bruce goes back to the computer.

"Sorry this is crap," Terry says when the clock-door is shut behind them.

Jason looks at him, unsure what kind of expression is on his face. He wants tell Terry over and over how grateful he is that Terry's here, but he can't. "Thanks," he says.

"You're welcome," Terry says. "I mean--okay, I should probably explain why Bruce is a little...You know the one that came after you?"

Jason swallows and nods. He saw the suit. (But not his suit. Not his suit.)

"Yeah. Well, the last time Joker came back, Joker was _him_. I mean, his personality was a sleeper agent _inside_ the psyche of traumatized, brainwashed, incredibly retired Robin number two. I mean three."

Jason's mouth has gone dry, and he can tell he's pale as hell. "Oh," he says. He can't imagine. Literally, can't even start.

"Retired, because the first time Joker died," Terry says, "Bruce was trying to get Robin back from him. And Robin killed him."

"Good," Jason says viciously. _Good_ isn't really the right word, because _get Robin back from him_ , but at least someone was doing the right fucking thing. "Next time I'll do it."

"Maybe you will," Terry says, meaning it. "I just...I thought you should know, why Bruce is being cautious. I thought it might help." He grimaces. "I'm not saying he's blameless. I think he's just scared."

Jason gives Terry a gentle push. " _Thanks_ ," he says. "I mean--it is helpful. I guess after basically losing two of us--things are different now, anyway. What happened to the one after me, anyway?" He means between killing the Joker and becoming him. He means after that. Anything. Whatever.

"He's okay," Terry says. "I mean, he’s kinda bitter. But he made it. Doesn't talk to Bruce much, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't think a lot of _me._ " He wonders if it would help Tim, to find out that Jason made it too. He kind of thinks it would.

"Sounds like an asshole," Jason says lightly. More like Dick than like Jason, maybe. Dick in the very beginning. Dick later on. "I'm sorry everything's gotten all weird and futuristic and shit."

Terry laughs. "Not to me! You're just some old fogey from the gritty past, you know. As far as I’m concerned, we’re status quo."

"Old fogey? No more calling me kid, then," Jason says smugly. He's pretty sure he could take Terry if they were both at full strength, anyway.

"Yeah, we'll see," Terry says, but of course he's done. "So has literally nothing changed since you were here?"

"Pretty much." Jason looks around. "The cave's a little different, but that's it. All this is the same. Minus my boyish laughter filling the halls, of course."

"Ha ha," Terry says. "Yeah. Not a lot of entertaining going on around here lately. Don't think Bruce has kept up with the fashions. You know, except for surveillance."

Jason pauses to think about that one, then decides not to. "So, he okay? Just, generally?"

Terry shrugs. "I'd be stupid not to worry sometimes, right?" he says.

"Good boy," Jason says. "Glad he's got someone to look after him, you know? I was okay at that. I think." Even though he can barely remember anything between this and dying-- _don't think about it_ \--he can feel the gap between then and now. He feels like he's been away.

"He didn't talk about you," Terry says. "I mean, he doesn't talk about a lot. But he whined a lot about Nightwing after awhile. And he talked about the other one, after I found out. I think you did more than okay."

"Cool," Jason says uncomfortably. "Bruce was great. Hope he still is."

Terry's been keeping his cool, the last couple months. Probably more than Bruce deserves. Probably more than is healthy. Here he is, after all, giving his dead teenage predecessor the grand tour and talking Bruce up like things are okay. 

The thing is, Tim and Dick are too bitter to have much of an effect on Terry, and Steph doesn’t care what he’s doing. Barbara is untouchable. It's Jason that's making Terry crack. Because obviously Jason loves Bruce, and Bruce got him killed, right? And he never said a word about him, not once in four years. Not even after Terry got hurt. Like Bruce’s feelings matter more than the kid who died for him.

"He's Bruce," Terry says. "You know." He keeps his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," Jason says. "Fucking crazy bastard, and not really in a good way. But that's why I love him."

"Yeah," Terry says. "Hard not to do anything for him, huh?" 

Jason shrugs. "Ask Dick. Dick left." He doesn't know that he wouldn't have left, someday.

Terry takes a deep breath, and it should just turn into something nice and smooth, because this just happened and no one can afford for him to freak out _yet._

Then he thinks, _Oh!_ and starts laughing.

Jason starts. "Uh. You okay?"

"School," Terry says. School is a minor disaster, lately. It’s ridiculous to be trying. He shouldn't even be trying, except Bruce looked really grim when he suggested quitting. Bruce thinks school normalizes him. "I had a test this morning."

"Fuck tests," Jason says. Then he looks sheepish. "Sorry. Maybe you don't feel that way. Uh, what're you studying?"

"Doesn't matter," Terry says. "Business. Who studies _business_ at a community college? Also, word to the wise, I hate business."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're going to take over _both_ of Bruce's jobs when he dies."

"Not if Derek Powers has anything to do with it," Terry says. "And I can't tell you how much the idea excites me."

"Derek Powers?"

"Been edging the Wayne out of Wayne-Powers for years. Keeps hoping Bruce dies, or at least gets too old to put a stop to all his incredibly bad plans."

"My favorite type of supervillain," Jason sighs. He's not even allowed to hit that kind, usually. He really, really hopes Bruce lets him out of here soon, or he's going to find a way out on his own. Sounds like there's a lot out there to deal with.

"His face is always pretty funny when things don't go his way," Terry says. "Hey, this place has a pool. Did anyone _ever_ use this pool when you were here?" 

"Yup," Jason says promptly. "For training. Or whatever. It usually started as training, anyway." Nothing is more hilarious than getting Bruce distracted in the middle of an important lesson.

"Yup," Terry repeats abruptly, before he realizes he's saying it out loud. "Uh. Well, no one uses it now and they totally should. Why don't I ever get swim training? Or whatever."

"I'll swim train you," Jason says, giving Terry a sleazy smile. _You're going to make everything worse for yourself, Jay,_ , he thinks.

"Nice," Terry says. "Wanna see my room?"

He caught the come on, so there’s really no excuse for that follow-up. 

Jason laughs, overwhelmed. "I, yeah? Yes? Your room _here_ , or--?" He didn't think--he didn't _think._

"Here, yeah," Terry says. "Lately."

"Right," Jason says. "Uh huh. You live here? Like, all the time?" So did Jason, and so did Dick, but that was different. Being Batman and being Robin don't mean the same thing.

"You think you're the only one Bruce's tried to keep in house arrest after a close call?" Terry asks. "That didn't last long but honestly, I'd rather be here than alone in my mom's house." 

Jason wants to ask Terry about his close call, and his family, and the Joker, but he's not stupid enough to make shit worse. "So, Barbara," he says. "I can't imagine her old. I want to see her."

"Don't worry," Terry says. "I won't let Bruce weasel out of it. You guys good friends, before?"

Jason hesitates. "Not--I don't know. She was really close with Dick. So we didn't always get along." She never hated him, but they didn't really mesh, either.

Terry nods. "Still," he says. "The old days?"

"We were friends," Jason agrees. "Babs grew up a lot, though, between when she started and when I--you know, ended. I think she was already starting to feel like maybe Bruce was making some mistakes with us." He's guessing that got worse, not better, if she's police commissioner now.

Terry nods. "She likes Bruce," he says. "But she doesn't take any crap. I don't think she's ever stopped being kind of pissed that he took me on."

"She thinks it's not safe?" Jason asks. He's sneering, but he knows damn well that she's right. Has always been right.

"She's not stupid," Terry says. "So yeah."

"I guess we're the stupid ones," Jason says. And whatever that makes Bruce.

"It's not like _she_ chose a safe job, after she ditched this one," Terry points out. "Hey, here. My room. Now you can know how to find me if you need me. Or to kill me in my sleep or whatnot."

Jason laughs. Having someone be completely unfazed by meeting the way they did is pretty fucking great. "I don't need anyone," he says. That used to be his line, all right, before he learned to admit that he needed Bruce. Now it's probably too late to pretend that he doesn't need Batman.

"You could still hang out," Terry says.

"Let me get this straight," Jason says, because he actually would like to. "I try to kill you, try to kill Bruce, have no idea how I got here, and could ruin your life in about ten different ways, and you want to be _friends?_ "

"It could just be that I'm really tired," Terry says. "Don't underestimate the destructive powers of sleep deprivation."

"Oh," Jason says, trying not to feel disappointed. "Ha. Forgot about that. Well, let's see how you feel tomorrow, I guess. Unless Babs kills me first."

"Hey," Terry says. "First of all, come in." He gestures into the room. "Second of all, that was a joke."

"Oh," Jason says again. And he follows Terry in.

Terry knows what it is, mostly. The tired thing is kind of true; Jason really does remind him of his little brother; Terry can't deal with sad, scared kids being left sad and scared; Bruce wants Jason to be okay; and Terry can't let go of what looks like the one person _kind of_ his age who will ever get what it is to do what they do.

"So, kinda bad at unpacking," Terry says apologetically. It's not like there's nowhere to put stuff. He just hasn't bothered. He keeps hoping there won't be a need.

Jason shrugs. "My room was always way messier." Terry's room isn't messy; it just doesn't look like anyone lives there. "I'll get you a poster or something," Jason says. He wonders if Terry has even heard of the bands he likes.

"Hey, that's a good point," Terry says, putting his plate down on the dresser. "I wonder if your stuff's around somewhere?" He kind of guesses that it's not, but he hopes he's wrong.

Jason really can't guess. Dick's stuff was gone by the time Jason showed up, but those circumstances were really different. But his suit wasn’t there. "We could look in my old room," he says dubiously.

Terry tries to check on Jason without looking like that's what he's doing.

"That something you want to do now?" he asks. "Later? Never? We could just watch TV or something."

"I should probably warn you now, I don't have much between stop and go," Jason says. "I don't--relax. Not saying I shouldn't try. Just. Bad at it. I guess I'd like to see my room, though."

"No problem," Terry says, to all of the above. He doesn't really have a slowing down mode either, but he thinks his going mode is a little less obvious. He's not so intense. He's happy not to be intense.

Jason's old room isn't too far from Terry's. Just far enough, he thinks, to make Bruce comfortable.

"Here it is," he says, stopping outside the door. “Uh, it's locked." Bruce is a weirdo.

"You think if we bust the door down an alarm will go off and Bruce will come flying up here like a—um. A bat out of hell?" Terry asks.

Jason laughs. "I'd pay to see that. Nah, let's--well, if I feel like asking him for the key later, I will." What he means is, he'll break in later. What he really means is, _I'm getting really claustrophobic in here._

"Suit yourself," Terry says, but now he's suddenly at a loss. "Uh." This is kind of like the one time his mom came here, after she found out, and before—the Joker came back. So weird you try to show everything at once, to explain it all, and then you run out and everything's even weirder than it was before.

"You don't have to hang around," Jason says quickly. "I mean, feel free to give Babs a call, or go grab a nap in your room or whatever. I can entertain myself."

"You sure?" Terry says, and yeah, it's a little bit because he doesn't trust Jason yet. Likes him already, sure, but he's not stupid. Going straight from _kicking the crap out of you_ to kind of cute and docile is _not_ something Terry believes in, completely. But he's practically asleep on his feet. 

"Listen, yeah," he says. "I'm just gonna lie down for a little while. I'll tell Bruce to wake me up when the commish wants a lift. You probably need at least five minutes to yourself, right?"

"That would be _great_ ," Jason says. "I'll be good, I promise." He gives Terry the smile he used to give Bruce when he really wanted something.

Terry smiles back, kind of bemused. He can already tell that if Jason doesn't kill them in their sleep, he, Terry, is going to have to work his ass off. Jason sets off all his instincts for family _and_ for Batman. But he can see how well anything that looks like pity is going to go over. Gotta keep it under wraps. And there’s other stuff to worry about.

"You know where I am," he says. "Lemme know if you need something." He waves, and heads out the door.

Jason waves until Terry's well out of sight, then he stops. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath. "You tried." Then he's off down the hall in the other direction, headed for the back door.


	3. gone in an instant (or here to the bitter end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mental illness, death, references to underage sex

Once he's off the grounds, Jason starts running through a list of the all the places he could go. It's an embarrassingly short list. Barbara will just bring him back to Bruce. He doesn't have family. The Teen Titans are probably all old and they never liked him much anyway. He stops. Okay. Obviously he has to find Dick.

It takes Jason a few minutes to work out how to use the electronic phone directory, but he's not stupid. He gets Dick's number and then spends another ten minutes trying to make the brightly-colored future payphone work. He finds that there are two rolls of quarters in his jacket pocket.

"That's fucked up," he mutters, and he stumbles his way into the phone call. The phone seems mad that he’s using change, for some reason, but he makes it work.

The phone rings a few times, and then a gruff, unfamiliar, middle-aged voice says, "Who's this? You know, I appreciate caller ID."

"Dick?" Jason says, although he doesn't believe it. Bruce made sense. He picked up where the Bruce Jason knew left off. Dick is on Jay’s side. He’s one of the kids.

There's a pause on the other end. "Shouldn't you know who you're calling ahead of time?"

"I thought I did," Jason says. He wishes he he'd been able to call from Bruce's house. "This is Jay. You know. Todd."

The pause this time is longer. Then Dick says, predictably, maybe, "If you're lying, I'll find you. If I find you, I'll break your neck."

"If you find me, you'll know I'm not lying," Jason points out calmly, although his hands are shaking. "It's me, I swear. I don't have anywhere to go. You still in Blüdhaven?"

"Not for a long time," Dick says. "There’ll be a video button. Hit that.”

“Oh,” Jason says. He hunts all over the terminal and finds something that looks like it might work. “Let me try—” All of a sudden there’s this guy that he’s talking to. Middle-aged guy. He can see how that’s Dick. _Shit._

Dick sucks in a breath. “Jason. What...?"

"I don't know," Jason says. "Fuck, man, I wish I did. I only remember--not much, pieces of a few weeks. I punched the new kid." He wonders if that'll help his case or hurt it.

"Huh!" Dick says. He's quiet again for a minute. "Are you just checking to see if I'm as old as I should be? You know--doing the math?"

"I suck at math," Jason says. "No, I just broke out of Bruce's place. I'm not staying there. He'll barely look at me. I needed someone who wouldn't be weird." Dick may be a lot of things, but he won't be weird. Not in a way Jason will mind. Hopefully.

"Want me to pick you up?" Dick says.

Jason tries not to sound like a needy bitch when he says, "Yeah, could you?" Dick probably doesn't care what Jason sounds like. He'd probably tell him not to say "needy bitch," though.

"Tell me where you're calling from," Dick says. "The unit will give you an ID, if you're at a public box."

"I'm at Devon and Main," Jason says grumpily. "I know Gotham, even in the bad-sci-fi-movie future."

"You never know what might have gotten scrambled up," Dick says. "In the intervening--time."

"Real delicate," Jason says. "I'll stay put and hope the future-cops don't arrest me for being...scrambled." 

"Good boy," Dick says, which is amazingly soothing. Only Dick could say that and not sound creepy _or_ condescending. Jason hopes that Dick is really coming, and that he finds Jason before Bruce does. “See you soon.”

 

"See you," Jason says, and hangs up, because otherwise he'll probably start freaking out or crying or some shit. Being around Terry has already been making him miss Dick. That’s the big brother he actually wants.

"See you," Dick agrees, and hangs up.

~

"McGinnis!"

Terry wakes up to being prodded roughly with the end of Bruce's cane.

"Bah!" Terry says, and only doesn't fall out of bed because he has developed some amazing reflexes in the last four years. "Whzaah--Bruce! What?"

"Jason's gone," Bruce says hoarsely, taking the cane away from Terry's ribs. "He's not anywhere in the manor or on the grounds."

"Sorry," Terry says, rolling onto his feet and immediately sinking back down on the edge of the bed. "Sorry, sorry, I'll go look."

Bruce pauses long enough to take a look at Terry. "Don't be sorry," he says shortly. "You're exhausted. For all we know, he just--vanished."

"You think?" Terry says, and then his throat gets tight and he decides that's the worst thing Bruce could possibly say. 

"No," Bruce says. "No, not really. I think he probably ran away. We just need to find him before he hurts himself or somebody else. It's a new world out there for him, and he won't know how anything works. I don't think he'll get far." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "But he's smart."

"No kidding," Terry says. "I can't believe I let him just send me to bed like a total idiot. Let me--" He gets up and heads out of the room.

Bruce follows, neither confirming nor denying Terry's possible idiocy. "I want to be in radio contact the whole time," he says. "You're too tired to be out, and he's too unpredictable. I wouldn't send you at all, but--" He stops and glares at the wall. He's not going to rest while Jason could be anywhere in Gotham.

"But you don't know what he's gonna do and you don't want to lose him twice, and there’s the Joker," Terry says tiredly. "Yeah, boss. I got all that. Hey, but while I'm on the lookout--I think maybe it's time for you to answer a few questions. Okay?"

"Okay," Bruce says with hardly any pause, probably because Terry looks awful. "I--should probably have learned my lesson about keeping things from you by now. Anything you want to ask."

"Great," Terry says, and heads out as fast as he can. He's got a list, but finding Jason is at the top.

~

Jason waits at the corner with the phone, getting increasingly twitchy. He wishes he weren't on Main Street. He wishes Bruce weren't going to find him in about five seconds. But Bruce doesn't come, and the only people who bother Jason are some kids about his age with weird hair and sharp features. One of them yells something at him, but the look Jason gives him sends the whole pack scurrying away down the street.

It takes Dick about twenty minutes to reach him. Dick pulls up at the curb, rolls down the window, and says, "Hey, Jay. Flying cars. Pretty weird, huh?" If he’s shocked, he doesn’t show it. He probably already did his all his double-takes somewhere up the street.

"I fucking hate it," Jason says promptly. He narrows his eyes and gives Dick a once-over. Nope, seeing him face-to-face doesn't help Jason connect this old man with his friend. But Dick still _acts_ like Dick, so Jason won't freak out yet. "Don't tranq me or something. Can I get in? I want to be off the street." He's already seen two kids in makeup that looks way too much like the Joker's face, and he doesn't want to ask if he's imagining it.

"I won't tranq you or something," Dick says. "Get in."

Jason hops in next to Dick, prepared to hate the flying car. "Bruce is probably looking for me," he says. "Look, don't just take me there. Or to Babs. I don't want to go back."

"Let's take a ride," Dick says. "Hopefully it'll take them a while to think of me."

"Well, you sound a _little_ less bitter," Jason says. "So you’ve met the new kid, right?"

"Yup," Dick says, and then smiles shortly and shakes his head. "Not his fault I'm an angry old man. He’s a nice kid. He’s good at the job. He likes the old man. And being a confident little punk usually helps. _Usually."_

Jason grins. "Kinda like me? Except it didn't help me that much. I--There was an explosion, right?" He's trying not to think about it, but it's hard not to. "I know it was the Joker, but the last details are a little fuzzy."

Dick is quiet for a long moment, and when he talks, it sounds like his voice hurts him.

"You sure you want to talk about that right now?" he asks.

Jason shrugs and slumps down further inside his jacket. "Not really. But it's easier than all the other stuff. Like everything I missed. The one who came after me, Babs quitting, _Bruce_ quitting--I can't catch up."

"Have you been back long?" Dick asks.

"I don’t know," Jason says. "I was on the streets a little. Then last night Terry knocked me out and took me ho--took me to Bruce's place."

"Sounds like Batman," Dick mutters. "You like him?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "Amazingly. He reminds me of you, kind of. Like he really wants to look out for me." It's a fucking embarrassing thing to say, but he's back from the dead and talking to an old man, so who cares?

"Good," Dick says, looking just as bashful as he ever did. "He's a little smug, y'know, but—nice. And god knows he hasn’t been smug lately. I just hate to think he’s getting suckered by Bruce as bad as the rest of us. Especially now."

Jason shakes his head. "I don't get you. I mean, I do, but I don't agree. He never screwed me over." He frowns. "Till now, I guess. Till I died and he didn't do anything about it." He has an unpleasantly vivid flashback to hitting Bruce last night.

"Sorry," Dick says. "I just mean--" He means a lot of bitter things that probably aren't what Jason needs to hear right now. He says, "Hang on, I'm gonna check out our present situation." He's got a police scanner in his car. The only relevant code is BT25, because that means Terry's out looking for Jason and they've got to keep an eye out.

 

"Cool," Jason says unhappily. "Look, I know Bruce is going to find me eventually. I don't even know where else I'd want to go. And Terry's okay. But Bruce--I don't want to be in his house if he's going to be a big freak about it."

"I get you," Dick says. "We're just going to catch you a break, here. Anyway--I'll talk to him if you want. Might help more than anything the kid tries."

"If he'll take your call," Jason says. Maybe that's changed in all this time, but he doubts it.

"I don't mean on the phone," Dick says grimly.

"Oh," Jason says. "Could you? Sexy protective big brother?"

Dick laughs out loud. "I'm not sure you should call me that, these days," he says. "But yes. I'll go back with you. You don't need to wait to get caught and dragged home like a loose cat, do you? You came to see me, and I came to see you, and we'll go together."

"Thanks," Jason says. "Seriously." For the first time since he woke up, he feels like he knows what the hell's going on.

"Not a problem, adorable troublemaking little brother," Dick says. "Wanna go get a burger or something? I know it's kind of early."

"I want three burgers," Jason says. "I haven't eaten real food in, like, decades." His shitty eggs don’t count.

"They beat you up, they kidnap you, they give you the old batman glare, but do they buy you dinner?" Dick mutters. "Okay. Come on. Fast food hasn't changed."

"Thank God," Jason says in a heartfelt whisper. This was clearly a good choice. He just hopes he hasn't hurt Terry's feelings too much.

~

Jason eats one and a half burgers before they get back to Wayne Manor. He's feeling a little more solid and fortified for dealing with Bruce. Besides, now he can see Dick when he looks at him.

"Bruce is probably downstairs," he says.

"Surely not," Dick says, slamming the car door and walking up to the front door. "It would be a lot more convenient if we had access to the lift. I hate the clock stairs. They're a deliberate hazard for absolutely no reason."

"He goes down 'em with his cane, now," Jason says. He takes another bite of his burger and lets them into the cave.

Bruce is sitting at the computer, with a display of the city up, clearly through the eyes of Terry's suit. He spins around in his chair when they come in.

"Hello, Bruce," Dick says. He might look about as surly as he feels, which would be great.

Bruce looks right to Jason, too. All in order. No Joker face.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce growls.

"Giving Jason a ride," Dick says evenly. "We were having a day out, but I don't think he's quite up to carjacking anything that flies." He smiles at Jason so Jason knows he doesn't mean anything by it. Jason wants to fucking hug him.

"Thank you for bringing him back," Bruce says. "Did he go all the way to your house?"

Jason has a sudden irrational though that maybe Bruce literally can't see him, and that's why he keeps ignoring him.

"Why bother?" Dick says. "I can drive."

"At least you brought him back," Bruce says. "Just a minute." He turns back to the screen. "McGinnis? Jason's back."

"He's buh?" say the speakers. "Good. Yeah, I'm--see you soon."

"Not running that one into the ground, are you?" Dick says.

Bruce glowers. "He didn't sleep last night, with all the...uproar."

"Driving on no sleep's the same as driving drunk," Jason says. "I read that. I haven't driven on no sleep, though, so I don't know."

Bruce stands up. "Jason. Are you going to run away again?"

"Yeah," Jason says.

"I could go pick up Terry as well," Dick offers. "Imagine, me in a Batmobile."

Bruce looks pained. He'd clearly prefer not to be looking at either of them. "Are you--Thank you for bringing Jason here. How've you been?"

Dick raises his eyebrows and purses his lips, and Jason can see he’s going to get his attitude on. " _We_ are fine. Living life. With the periodic trauma of the past popping through, as always. Not you," he adds to Jason.

"I'm sure I'm somebody's trauma," Jason says. "We should really make this a full house. Call up the other Robin." He's just pushing it, now. Dick smiles at Bruce, daring him, but Jason isn’t sure what the dare is. 

"You don't know what you're talking about," Bruce says flatly.

"Cool!" Jason says, his voice echoing in the cave. "So you treat him like even more of a freak than me! Lucky guy." He reminds himself that the third Robin is probably at least middle-aged now and adjusts his mental picture.

There's sound at the end of the cave, and the door opens to bring down the lift, Batmobile on board. Terry climbs out as soon as it stops, and has his hood off as soon as his feet touch the ground. 

"Oh," he says. "A party. Cool. Everyone enjoying it?" He looks a little shaky, but relieved to see Jason.

"Get some sleep, you idiot," Jason says guiltily.

"At least sit down." Bruce offers Terry the chair he's vacated.

"Why don't you go upstairs?" Dick suggests. "Jay, maybe you could go with him? Bruce and I can catch up."

Jason nods, grateful. "Got it. Good luck. I mean, uh--No, good luck. C'mon, Terry." He grabs Terry's arm and heads up the hazardous steps before ¬Bruce and object.

"Do I wish I was staying or not?" Terry mutters. "Man, I hardly ever see those two in the same room." He spots Ace out of corner of his eye. "Good dog," he says. "You see who moved in?"

Jason takes a few steps away from Ace. Sure _looks_ like the same dog. "Hey, boy. Please don't freak out at me because I'm a zombie."

Ace pads over to them cautiously. "Wuf," he says, tilting his head at Jason.

"He doesn't like zombies," Terry says. "Trust me. You must not be one."

Jason grins. " _Great_. Love this dog. Told you I would." He pats Ace, who happily submits. He’s maybe a little friendlier than old Ace, and a little shaggier. "Hey, listen, sorry about the running away. I wasn't running from _you_ , and I didn't mean to ruin your nap." In the grand scheme of things, it seems like a stupid thing to apologize for.

"Hah. I thought you were talking to the dog," Terry says. "But I appreciate it. I can't imagine I'd feel awesome in your situation. At least you had the brains to go somewhere useful."

"Trust me, totally a first," Jason says. "But now I have reality pinned down and everything, so that's great."

"Okay," says Terry. "That's good. Let me know if it's coming unstuck again, or whatever you want to call it. Like I said, don't know how I'd be doing. You wanna go up to my room?" He's willing to risk Jason killing him in his sleep, as long as it is _in his sleep._

"Yeah," Jason says. "I won't go anywhere. I want to see what Dick does. I'm hoping he reads Bruce the riot act." Maybe that's not a phrase anymore.

"Awesome," Terry says. He's glad he knows where everything is, because shutting his eyes on the way up the stairs feels like the best choice he's made all day.

Jason steers them back to Terry's room and sits on the floor to finish his last hamburger while Terry crashes.

Terry strips off the suit and sort of rolls forward into his bed. Who needs modesty, anyway?

"Hey," he says. "By the way. Nice to meet you."

Jason laughs. "You too, Batman."

"Yeah, whose dumb idea was that?" Terry asks his pillow, and then it's pretty much lights out.

~

As soon as Terry and Jason leave, Bruce says, "We don't even know if it's really him."

"So calm him down enough that you can _get permission_ to run some tests," Dick says. "Kid probably needs a checkup anyway. Dying and undying have got to do some screwy stuff to your physiognomy."

"I already got a DNA sample," Bruce says. He sighs sharply. "I'm--this is upsetting. I'm upset."

"I said _permission,"_ Dick says. "You'd better be upset. I'd feel almost bad about punching an elderly man in the jaw."

"Hm," Bruce says. "Dick--The Joker is still out there. Jason can't run away again. I can't--I can't."

"I know how dangerous it is," Dick says. "But guess what? The Joker's still out there, and you're still sending Terry off to fight anything that comes Gotham's way. Where's his family right now, Bruce? You know the Joker would kill him, too, if he had a chance, just like Jason. You know the Joker must have something planned. You don't have any right to send Terry out, and you don't have any right to keep Jason in. No matter who he is." Though, personally, Dick is fairly sure that Jason is what he thinks he is.

"He's a minor," Bruce says.

Dick laughs. "Oh. That is the last thing you want to be bringing up."

"I didn't invite you here," Bruce says, gripping his cane so hard his knuckles turn white.

"No, you didn't," Dick says, jaw tight. "But I'm here. Because I didn't show up for any of the others, and maybe this is the last chance you're going to have to screw up, and I'm not going to miss them all. He picked the angry, middle-aged dropout over you today, Bruce. And it's not because he likes me best."

"Damn it," Bruce says thickly. "You're right." That's not quite _I'm sorry_ , but it's better than he usually does. "I don't want to make any more mistakes, not with Jason or Terry, but I don't know how to avoid it now."

Bruce's whole MO for protégés is a giant mess, and Dick doesn't really know where you'd start. Don't sleep with the teenagers? Oh, god.

Bruce meets Dick's eyes. "I don't want to see the Joker hurt them anymore," he says.

"That's something," Dick says, not like it's something very much. "You ready to kill the bastard yet?"

"Batman doesn't kill," Bruce says.

"Of course not," Dick says sarcastically. "Good thing Batman is a twenty-year-old living out of your attic, and you're just a washed up corporate giant with a whole mansion full of psychiatric issues."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Get out."

"That's always how it ends, isn't it?" Dick says. He isn't smiling now. "You can throw me out as often as you want. You can stop talking about all the kids who disappeared or got so messed up you don't know how to talk to them anymore. It won't make it any less your fault. Won't make me wrong, either." He turns and starts up the stairs. "I'm not in the hero business anymore, god only knows, but I'm also not butting out of this until I know those kids are safe. If I've got to do it on the other side of your fences, it'll still get done."

Bruce has come too far and is too old to know how to apologize. Terry may be teaching him new tricks, but Dick makes him forget everything. "I can't stop you," he says. "But I don't know what good you'll be."

Dick doesn't even slow down. A few seconds later, he's gone.


	4. i know i'm the one (you want to forget)

Terry sleeps for a _long time_.

It doesn't take Jason long to get restless. Instead of running away, this time he tries to figure out Terry's magical future TV. It's not like Terry won't sleep through any noise. Jason gets the power on and navigates to a new channel manned entirely by creepy, see-through newscasters. It could just be his post-resurrection craziness, but he doubts it. Ugh, the future.

The news itself is disturbing, too. He finds out in short order about how little control Bruce has over his company and about--

They're called Jokerz. Like it's a fad. 

"Fuck," Jason says.

New Ace pants gently and slobbers on Jason's ear. He never used to slobber, the old one doesn’t. Jason wonders if this one is senile, or trying to communicate something.

"Thanks, I guess," Jason says, patting him absently. "How come no one dresses up as _me?_ " He sighs and leans on Ace. He guesses someone tried. "What the hell am I gonna do? They won't let me be a supervillain, and there's no opening for Robin anymore. But I can't just let Bruce keep me cooped up here." He hopes Dick is still giving Bruce a talking-to.

"No no fine," Terry murmurs. He's still facedown on his bed, splayed out every which way. Guess it's not too surprisingly the new Batman doesn't sleep like the old one.

Jason's not gonna lie, Terry's pretty hot. But he's not about to screw up again by falling for someone he shouldn't. Even if it's Batman. "You're too nice," he tells Terry quietly.

"Fettawah," Terry says, which could mean basically nothing.

Jason shrugs and turns back to the TV. The unnerving half-reporter is talking about a string of recent attacks with circus props. Jason feels very tempted to run away again, and the worst part is, it might not even be the Joker. Well, he'll wait for Dick to chew Bruce out, or for Babs to show up. At least he'll wait for Terry to stop being unconscious. He can wait that long.

~

When Terry wakes up the light in his room is different and he feels like he's been sleeping for about ten years, and he feels like it wasn't enough.

Jason is sitting at the floor staring at the news. He's jittery and pale and angry. "Wow, the future is _messed up_ ," he says.

Terry blinks, trying to get awake. He was kind of hoping for more of a low-stress rest of the day, but that was admittedly a stupid thing to hope for.

"Hey, Jay," he says. "You're still here." 

"Nobody calls me Jay," Jason says, distracted. Terry rolls out of bed long enough to pull some pants on, and then rolls back into bed. "Except Bruce, sometimes. Hey. You're awake. I watched some news. And then I watched some more news."

"That's almost never a good idea," Terry says conversationally. Ugh. He feels like someone punched him in the face with a ball of socks.

"No kidding." Jason leans back against the bed. "So, the Jokerz, huh? That's a thing?" 

"Oh," Terry says. "Yeah. That's a thing. Been a thing for a while. It honestly didn't bother me until I found out what the real Joker was like."

Jason shudders. "You're smarter than I am. Was. I wasn't ever scared of him. I wasn't scared of any of them." Maybe he can make Terry understand what _he's_ like.

"How close to dead can you get before it counts as stupid?" Terry asks. Shouldn't, does, still tired, too late.

"How close did you get?" Jason asks, looking him straight in the eye.

"Well, I look all right, don't I?" Terry asks. "I guess not that close."

"Whatever," Jason snaps, "that doesn't mean anything. Fuck this. Why are we sitting around while he's out there murdering people?" Maybe he's still not scared.

"Two things," Terry says, holding up his fingers. "One: Bruce. And two: we can't find him."

Both of those actually sound like fairly legitimate reasons. "Fine," Jason says. "Sorry. Didn't mean to go off on you right after you woke up. I just freaked myself out."

"The news," Terry agrees. "For the record? It was close."

"Yeah," Jason says. "I figured." He wishes he'd never brought it up. "How long ago?"

"Bout six weeks," Terry says. He grins, self-deprecating. "Your timing's pretty good. That was my first night out since--you know. Since."

"Uh, wow, what kind of dick am I?" Jason says. "Fuck. I thought--I thought, like, six _months_." Not that makes a damn bit of difference.

"It's not _your_ fault," Terry says obviously.

"Attacking you was kind of my fault," Jason says. "Look, I didn't mean to fuck up your life. I can--"

Terry doesn't feel prepared to deal with someone's mood swings right now, especially someone other than Bruce.

"You didn't fuck up my life," he says. "Come on, change the channel or something. My kid brother likes these dumb cartoons."

" _You_ like dumb cartoons," Jason retorts. "I had to change the channel off 'em." He changes it back, though.

"Caught me?" Terry says. "Hey boy!" Ace is still in his room, and he pads over, looking dubious, when Terry waves his hands.

"He's so good," Jason says. "Best dog ever. And I don't even like dogs. Just the one." He looks hopefully at Terry. "Want me to, like, make you food? Since I ruined your rest and all." He'd just fuck it up. He's an awful cook. And he still isn't sure about anything that's happening here. But he does feel guilty.

Terry says, "You think Bruce and Robin One are done killing each other?"

"My money's on Dick," Jason says carelessly. "Man, he grew up _cool_. Who would have thought? And he was always the gayest one, too."

Terry laugh-chokes. "I feel like I missed a lot by only coming in for the sequel."

Jason grins. "I'm glad you don't offend too easy."

"Naw," Terry says. "Pretty much never."

"Thank God. Then again, you couldn't really work with Bruce if you did. I think that's why Dick really quit." Jason is grasping at straws of normalcy.

Terry chews on this for a minute. "I know you said you don't really slow down," he says. "But d'you think it might help, y'know, to figure out a way you can?"

"Like how?" Jason says. "That's social worker talk."

Terry shrugs.

"Everyone always wants to give you a social worker," Jason explains. "Didn't that ever happen to you?" Maybe not, if Terry has a family.

"Not so much," Terry says. "The only shit that ever went down in my family was my dad dying after the divorce, and my mom held it together so well you wouldn't know--well. I mean, I knew. But she did really good."

"Yeah," Jason says. "Moms are--" For a minute he can't think of anything, but he can remember dying. "Uh."

Terry smiles apologetically. "Sorry. I'm really like you said. Middle class and comfortable. Except for the bat thing, that’s not so normal."

"Don't be sorry," Jason says. "It's nice that some people are, I guess." He doesn't exactly mean it. "Besides, the bat thing is _way_ abnormal. I guess I just don't get why you got into it."

"Told you," Terry said. "Didn't I?" To be honest, he's a little fuzzy on what has happened since Jason showed up. "Someone killed my old man," he explains. "Cops weren't doing enough. I figured out about Bruce, and the timing was good, so I just--he _really_ wasn't happy about me, at first."

"He never is," Jason says. "He only took me in 'cause I robbed him. Bet he didn't tell you that." But no, of course, Bruce didn't tell Terry anything about Jason.

"Not _only,"_ Terry says.

Jason rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. "Yeah." Thinking about Bruce and the way things were is even worse than thinking about dying. Things weren't always _good_ , but then they were--things worked. Now they don't, and Jason is still scrambling for balance. Jason clears his throat. "Think he'll come around at all?"

"Yeah," Terry says immediately. "For real, he clams up about everything important. If he can get his head an inch out of his ass I think he'll remember that he's not literally the only person in the world." He does that awkward laugh-cough that keeps coming up around Jason. "Honestly, I'll be surprised if you're the one he ignores."

"Whoa," Jason says, standing up so fast his head spins. "I don't want to be--I won't be that guy again. If that's how it is, I'll run away so far you can't stop me."

_Shit._

"That's not," Terry says. "--I'm sorry. I'm just a little--I'm sleeping with your boyfriend and living in your house and it sucks, so I feel bad. I, um--I mean, the old man likes me fine, I'm just--I don't think I'm that tough as competition, that's all. I don't want you to leave, though. I didn't--"

"Hey," Jason says. He grabs Terry's arm. "I'm not gonna leave if you need me here. You know? And it stopped being my house years ago. My boyfriend, too. He's yours now. Good fuckin' luck."

Every thought running through Terry's head might have been different, before. Now they're not as nice. He used to love Bruce with a grain of salt, knowing everything about it was a little messed up, even if it never bothered Terry. Now ne knows a lot more about Bruce’s limits, and he knows which ones he can’t live with. It’s harder to listen to Jason say, _good luck,_ and not think about the reasons it’s too late.

He hasn't figured out what to do with that.

"You don't need to stick around for my sake, either," he says, since he's a self-destructive idiot this week. "I mean--you don't owe me anything, so don't let me mess things up for you." He looks hopefully at Jason. "You might be safer, though."

"Me sticking around wouldn't be for _your_ sake," Jason says. "Do you know how lucky I was to run into you last night and not someone else?" He wonders if it _was_ luck.

"Good point," Terry says. He fidgets, and gets up, and sits down again. "Okay, I feel weird asking, but do you want a hug?"

Jason laughs. "Fuck, man, you're more of a _man_ than--uh, _anyone_. Yeah, gimme a hug."

"I don't know you!" Terry protests. "I don't know what you like! You tried to kill me _two times."_

Jason grabs Terry in what he hopes is a non-threatening way.

"Okay," Terry says. "Cool." They lean over and hug, and Jason holds on. He knows he's always been a little starved for physical attention, of whatever kind. He clings to Terry and shuts his eyes, soaking up the feeling of being held for as long as he’s allowed.

"Sorry if I should’ve asked earlier," Terry says. "I just—strangers, you know? But I just remembered the only other people you've seen are Bruce and Dick."

"Right," Jason says. "Not exactly big huggers." Dick used to be.

Jason doesn't pull away enough. He feels so stupid, but he can't let go.

Terry doesn't seem to mind, though. "Yeah. And guess who I've been hanging out with."

"Tell you what, let's have hug dates," Jason says, pulling back and smiling. "You know, if we're both--around."

"Sounds good,” Terry says, and it’s for sure the first time that Jason has seen him look happy.

He rubs the back of his neck and grins. "I can't believe you're older than me. Seriously. And I'm not talking about your youthful bat physique."

"Uh," says Terry.

"Not an insult," Jason says. "You're just, like, a cute teenager or something. You know, and a guy who repeatedly kicked my ass."

"How about we focus on that ass-kicking?" says Terry.

Jason actually catches himself before making some sort of awful innuendo, which is surprising. "Now you sound like Bruce," he says, which isn't much better.

"Oh, come on!" Terry says disapprovingly.

Jason laughs and tries not to imagine Terry and Bruce's sex life. "Man, what the hell am I gonna tell Barbara about all this?"

"Anything you want," Terry says. "Bet she can take it."

Jason has always been honest with Barbara, probably more honest than she'd prefer. Why should he change that now? "Can't wait to see her," he says. "Now that I'm not afraid she'll bring me back here." He can't imagine what being stuck here would be like if Terry weren't around. It's a horrible thought.

"I'd bring you somewhere else, if I had somewhere else," Terry says. A little part of him keeps wanting to know why the hell he's so invested in this little former Robin, all things considered. The bigger, other, louder part of him keeps begging Jason to like him. It's embarrassing. It's—It’s probably just because he’s so stressed. It’s probably because getting someone back alive makes him feel desperate to keep doing it. He hopes it's nothing, because something would be a huge problem. 

"We'll totally get an apartment together," Jason says. Fake flirting. He must be getting back to normal. “You can bring me there all you want.”

"Haha," Terry says, and then he wonders if hanging out with Bruce too much really has made him like guys who punch first and hug second.

"Want to see if Bruce and Dick killed each other?" Jason asks. He'd rather stay locked in this room with Terry forever, but he's already starting to feel a little less anchored to reality, so that's probably a bad idea.

"Yes," Terry says. "We should bring a crowbar, in case we have to pry them apart."

Jason frowns. "I--yeah. Yeah." That reminds him of something unpleasant, but at the moment, he can't think what.

"C'mon," Terry says, and then realizes he's not totally dressed. Which maybe he should have realized a while ago. "Uh, second thought, maybe I’ll put a shirt on."

Jason opens his mouth and shuts it again. Terry is _actually too nice_ for Jason to make fun of. At least as much as he wants to. "I should probably get some new clothes, huh?" he says, looking back at the TV.

"Might be nice," Terry says, pulling on a t-shirt. "You can borrow some, if you...fit."

Jason snickers, then thinks about it seriously, eyeing Terry's legs. "I doubt. I'm too short and my thighs are bigger than yours. Somehow."

"You don't need to make any leg jokes," Terry says, patting his thighs. "I've heard all of them." He holds up his hand. " _All_ of them."

Jason grins. "You _do_ work out, you know. It's okay, I bet if you need to go undercover, you can still rock a skirt. Even without my awesome curves."

"Boy can I," Terry agrees. He hunts around for something with long sleeves to pull on over his t-shirt and ends up in a sweater.

It's a good look on Terry. Jason has never been great at the detective portion of the job, but that's for Batman to worry about, not Robin. Still, he's mentally compiling information about Terry until he actually gets a sense of what the guy is like.

He settles on saying, "You're funnier than I thought at first."

Terry just smiles at him and looks pleased with himself. He puts his hand on Jason's shoulder as he passes by, and steers him out the door. "Come on," he says. "Let's go sort out some geezers."

Jason tags along, still smiling. He can't tell if Terry feels like a big brother, an awkward kid, or just Batman. All of those options are okay.

~

"I don't hear screaming," Terry mutters at the top of the stairs. Ace wuffs and heads down.

Jason follows, hoping that at least Bruce didn't make Dick sad.

But it looks like Bruce is pretty sad. It takes him about two whole seconds to start looking angry, when they come in. 

"Come to tell me off?" he asks them. This time, he includes Jason.

"Not really," Terry says. "Just figured that Grayson probably left ages ago and you might want some company."

"Oh," Bruce says. He smiles grudgingly. Jason hasn't really seen Bruce smile yet.  
"Did you get some sleep? Either of you?"

"I did!" Terry says, pointing to his hair, which, yeah, is a little crooked and standy-uppy. "Pretty sure this guy just watched the news."

Bruce grunts. "Why?"

"You watch the news all the time," Jason says blithely. "I can't say Gotham's gotten any less fucked up since I died."

"Humanity," Terry says cheerfully. "At least I like to think I clean up a little bit of the mess in my neighborhood."

"Where'd you _find_ this sap?" Jason asks Bruce.

Bruce actually laughs. "I--It's good to have you back, Jason."

Jason can still see the strain in Bruce's face, but he'll take what he can get. "Glad enough that I can get my own place soon, right?"

"What, you don't want to hang out with me all the time?" Terry says. 

"We can have slumber parties. I'll bring gummi worms. You can bring the R-rated movies for after Bruce goes to bed."

"I prefer that plan," Bruce says, looking grim. "Jason I don't want you going--"

"Okay!" Jason says, wanting to forestall another argument. "Later. I get that I'm not leaving immediately. Besides, I like the baby Bat's TV."

" _Baby_ Bat," Terry says.

"Little bat?"

"Modern bat?" Terry offers. "Bat two? The convertible of bats."

"Oh, no," Bruce says, as if he's just realized that having Jason and Terry in the same place is horrifying in ways he hadn't contemplated.

"It's true," Terry says. "For a misanthropic old CEO, you really have good luck collecting the charmers. As if we couldn't be doing better things with our time."

"Lucky me," Bruce mutters.

Jason is hit by a wall of memory, of all the times Bruce pretended not to care when he really cared so much the force felt like enough to kill Jason. "Oof," he says.

"I'm so thirsty right now," Terry says suddenly. "Bye!"

Somehow he gets halfway up the stairs before Bruce or Jason has a chance to protest, or physically stop him. 

Jason clears his throat. "So, fresh start. I'm alive." He doesn't know that Bruce will respond any better to this tactic, but maybe. Maybe they've both had a chance to calm down, and Jason won't be rude and aggressive and Bruce won't look right through him.

Bruce's mouth twitches, like a response to not burying his head in his hands. 

"That seems to be the case," he says. They still haven't checked everything. They still don't know _how_ , or if, even assuming he's the real Jason, he's on someone's string. Bruce is not ready to give up his hesitation, when there's still so much to question. He doesn't like disappointment.

"A little crazy," Jason admits. "Me, I mean. I think it's getting better, though."

Bruce frowns. "Oh yeah?" he says awkwardly. Does it work that way?

"I was seeing things," Jason admits. "But not anymore? Mostly? I mean, I attacked you. And I also--wasn't seeing everything _right._ But I feel a little better. Look, trust me, I know how nuts this is. But give me a shot?"

Bruce clears his throat. “We’ll have to see,” he says. Which Jason expects. Bruce looks down at his hands, looks up at Jason.

"It's embarrassing," he says slowly.

" _What's_ embarrassing?" Jason demands. "Giving me a damn hug when I'm your dead boyfriend?"

"No," says Bruce. "I'm _old."_

Jason almost laughs, but that would be mean. "For fuck's sake, Bruce! You think I care that you're old? I can't imagine why that would matter. There's nothing wrong with old people. And you were always a lot older than me." Jason might discriminate in some areas, but that's not one of them.

Bruce frowns at his hands again. "I didn't want you to see me like this," he says, which is still not what he means, exactly, but it's all he can force out.

"Better than me _not_ seeing you like this," Jason says, trying to make his tone gentle. "Come on, you're a hottie. And you're still doing your thing, even if you're not on the streets. So what do I care?"

 _You care that I failed,_ Bruce thinks. He says, "I guess you don't. But you're not about to pick up where we left off, either, are you?"

"Uh, hello?" Jason says. "Terry McGinnis? Ring any bells?" That's not the only factor, but it's kind of an important one.

"Of course it does!" Bruce snaps, and now he does rub his hand over his eyes. "Sorry. This is just--something of a mess on all sides."

"I think Terry's doing okay, apart from the lack of sleep," Jason says. "I just wanna make it clear to him that I'm not about to try and get in on his territory. I'm not Robin now. And I don't want you. So, you know." It's a lie that he doesn't want Bruce; he _always_ wants Bruce, and it’s not like _he’s_ been rebounding for the last forty years but right now he's a little angry and a lot shaky, so he's ignoring the feeling.

"That's what I thought," Bruce says dryly. Having Jason here again makes him feel so old that he doesn't want to think about being Terry's _territory._ Jason is incredibly young, but Terry's young enough. "I'm sorry about the house arrest. You know why I'm concerned."

"I know," Jason says, "but I still don't understand why he's not dead. And I don't mean why he came back to life. I mean why you don't kill him. Why not back then, why not now, why not fucking _ever_ , Bruce?"

There it is, exactly the one thing Bruce doesn't want to talk about--because the answer won't ever change even if Bruce changes his mind, and Jason won't ever stop hating him for it.

"Then?" he says roughly. "Because I believed that killing even once would destroy everything Batman was, and if that happened, I would ruin more lives than I would save."

Jason is trying hard not to shake with rage. "And now?"

"Now?" Bruce gestures to himself. "Now, what do you think I can I do?" It's up to Terry now, even more than it was up to Tim.

"You can step out of the way and let us do it," Jason suggests. He thinks Terry will. Probably. It's likely. He thinks Bruce could if he really wanted, and being old is just an excuse. 

“That’s what you want?” Bruce asks.

"That's all I'm asking at this point." Now that he's not newly awake and furious. He wonders, almost as an afterthought, if that idea was there in his head already, or if someone put it there.

Bruce is stoic. "And start your new life on charges of manslaughter?" he asks.

"My new life," Jason says flatly. "Is that what this is? Because right now, Bruce, all I'm seeing is a haunted house and a lot of nightmares."

"You haven't had much time," Bruce says, stubborn in the way Bruce _always fucking is._ "It will get easier."

"That's what you said when I stole your tires," Jason says. "It didn't, really." He spreads his arms. "Still me. Still pissed off. Still scared half the time. Face it, Bruce, if my life is going to get easier, we're going about it the wrong way." He didn't come here to fight. He's not Dick. But they can't really resolve fights the way they used to, can they?

Bruce knows he probably looks as defeated as he feels. "Jason," he says, and then can't reach anything past it.

"Can I," Jason starts, but he doesn't know how to ask. "Fuck it." He walks over to Bruce, hands raised to show he's not dangerous, and grabs Bruce in a hug. It's not a perfect solution.

Bruce is paralyzed for several seconds, staring down at Jason with his hands held up like he's afraid touching him will break something. Or set something off. But aside from all the grief and guilt and reasonable concern Jason's arrival is causing, Bruce is relieved. It's as though he hasn't really done as much wrong as he thought, and part of him is slotting back into place. And, no matter what it gets him, Jason is here and moving and shouting at him. He's afraid to be grateful, but he can't help it. 

He hugs Jason tight, and after a second of hesitation, puts a hand in Jason's hair and presses his mouth against Jason's head. He thinks, just for a moment, _Maybe you'll die before the kids this time._ He’ll be so grateful if that’s true.

Jason shuts his eyes and clenches his teeth. "I'm here," he whispers. "Come on, Bruce, don't worry. I'm here." He might not be Robin anymore, but taking care of Bruce is still his job.

"I believe you," Bruce says, muffled. "Although I _might_ break my rules about killing if you turn out to be something else." He can think of a dozen possibilities, but he can't believe them, even though they're more likely than the possibility that this is real. He isn't sure what it would take, if he is honest with himself, for him to care even if it's a lie.

"You and me both," Jason mutters. "Listen, we'll try to find out what I'm doing here. But hopefully without fucking Terry and Dick and everyone up too much, huh?" As if that's in their skill-set.

"Terry will be fine," Bruce says in surprise, leaning back. Whether or not Dick will be fine is outside Bruce's department, these days.

Jason doesn't know Terry as well as Bruce does, obviously, but even people as cheerful and well-adjusted as Terry have limits. And as far as Jason can tell, Terry has no reason to be cheerful and well-adjusted.

"You're a dumbass," he says. "Talk to the guy."

Bruce backs up awkwardly. "I see," he says, cracking a smile. "Moved on to giving relationship _advice_ now."

"I'm full of advice," Jason says. "What else am I gonna do with my time? Besides, you don't have anyone else here to tell you what to do." He almost asks about Alfred, but he knows what the answer will be, and he doesn't think it's a good time. It might never be a good time.

"I don't need anybody to tell me what to do," Bruce says.

"Sure," Jason says easily. "Never did, never will. That's going great, obviously. Well, be my guest and don't talk to Terry, but don't be surprised when he dumps you for someone less emotionally unavailable."

"Who else does he know?" Bruce says.

Jason's eyebrows go up. "Wow, Bruce. You're a real class act. Listen, I'm going to my room. If you'll give me the key."

Bruce manages not to retort with something that would be a horrible mistake. He says, "I was joking. I'll have to dig the key out, but I'll bring it to you when I find it."

"Okay," Jason says. "But don't put off talking to Terry. I know he's cool, but he's got to be a little shaken up. It's not everyday your boyfriend's dead ex comes back to life, you know?" This is easier, he thinks, than pretending nothing's changed. And it feels better.

Bruce sighs and pushes his hand through his hair. That’s really not what has him worried. And it’s only the second-to-last thing he wants to talk about. "I really hate that word," he mutters, and then says more audibly, "I know. You're right. I promise I'll talk to Terry." He hesitates. "Are you--is this okay? With Terry being...?" Any of the things Terry is being.

"Not really," Jason says. "I mean, I wasn't at first. Because he's not Batman, you are. But now I've got my head right." Mostly. Partly. Getting there. He pretends not to pick up on anything else Bruce might have meant.

"I see," says Bruce.

"Great." Jason sighs. "See ya. I'll be in Terry's room till you get me my key." He waves to Bruce, hiding a few seconds of flipping him off somewhere in the middle of the motion. Hopefully the greatest detective ever will catch it, but Jason doesn't stick around to find out.


	5. my old aches (become new again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: age gap makeouts

Terry is relieved when Jason shows up in one relatively happy piece, and he’s glad to have him around. They haven't reached the point yet where proximity is annoying instead of weirdly comforting. Terry pretends to do homework, then forces Jason to at least _look toward_ some cartoons, and then Bruce shows up with Jason's room key, and Terry goes out to fight some crime.

There's not actually that much crime to fight, as it turns out. There’s a fourteen-year-old who's trying to steal from the corner store across the street from Terry's stakeout. All Terry does is emerge upside-down from the darkness and say, " _Hey, kid, anyone tell you crime doesn't pay?_ " and that about does it. He doesn’t even chase him down and get the stuff back, because the kid probably needs it anyway.

He signs off when Bruce gets tired, and checks out a couple spots where he’s hoping to find something. But no one is there, and he ends another night empty-handed.

When he comes home he goes to Bruce's room, by way of the shower and his pajamas.

Bruce is awake, of course. He's sitting in bed, in his robe, reading. He looks up as soon as Terry comes in. "Patrol went well," he says, not really questioning. Terry looks more like himself.

"Yup," Terry says. "No surprises, no problems. Think I might've directed a youngster toward a law-abiding life."

"That's what we strive for," Bruce says, the corner of his mouth twisting. "Come here."

"I thought I'd just stand awkwardly by the door," Terry says. He crosses the room, pink and damp-haired. He hadn't been sure if maybe he should wear more, wandering around the house when there's someone other than Bruce in it, but that's ridiculous. Jason would not object to PJs. Terry does not object to being seen in his PJs. He's just getting too used to being here with Bruce, without anybody else.

Bruce takes a deep breath and moves over unnecessarily. There's plenty of room for Terry. "How are you?" he forces himself to ask. Not because Jason told him to, just because he should.

"Tired," Terry says. 

“Hmm. School?”

"Oh,” Terry says. “I'm pretty sure I'm gonna fail this semester."

" _Hm,"_ Bruce says, surprised. He didn't actually know that. It's his job to know that. "It's been a hard few months for you," he says, knowing that it isn't enough.

"Yeah, well," Terry says, climbing into bed. "I'm not really that good at school anyway."

"You're better than you think." Bruce puts his arm around Terry awkwardly. He's never been good at that.

"Sweet of you to say," Terry says dubiously. "I don't think your high opinion's gonna finish any of my late papers for me, though."

Bruce clears his throat. He doesn't know how to... "Do you need anything?" He grimaces. Anything could be a tutor, therapy, for Bruce to have killed the Joker when he had the chance.

"I'm pretty awake if you're up for it," Terry says, worse than unhelpfully.

Bruce's frown deepens. "Of course," he says. This is probably not what Jason had in mind. It's certainly not what Bruce had in mind. He leans over and takes Terry's chin in his hand, though, angling Terry's face up for a kiss.

Terry relaxes by reflex. "Hmm," he says appreciatively.

Bruce grabs Terry's wrists and pushes them up above his head, against the wall. He doesn't want to stop kissing Terry, now that he's started. Stopping will mean they have to talk about the last twenty-four hours. 

Terry whimpers and flattens himself out against the bed. Bruce looms over him, dragging his free hand through Terry's hair. "Good boy," he mutters, but his heart isn't in it. "You're doing a good job." He means that, just not--not only here.

Terry nods. "This okay, though?" he asks breathlessly.

"Are _you_ okay?" Bruce counters. It's what he should be asking on a regular basis, but he's never learned how.

"I, uh," Terry says. "I mean. Aside from the obvious? I guess I'm doing okay. Is this really the right time to...?"

"No," Bruce says honestly. The right time would have been ten minutes ago. Twenty hours ago. Two months ago. "But I'm asking." He digs his nails into Terry's scalp and bears down on Terry's wrists.

Terry moans, and it turns into a gulp. "What--exactly. Do you want to know?"

"I want to know how you're coping with the Jason situation," Bruce says, picking the easiest target. "He isn't going to--change anything." A lie. A stupid lie. He's going to change everything.

"What? Oh. Yeah, that's what he said. But--hey, it's actually kind of hard to have a surprise serious conversation when you're holding me down like this."

Bruce lets go, but he doesn't move away. "Sorry," he says awkwardly. He doesn't like talking in bed. He doesn't like talking anywhere.

Terry slithers upright. "Uhm," he says. "So, Jason. Is definitely not going to change anything. You say, mid-makeout."

Bruce sighs. "All right. I know. But what I mean is, you're still Batman. And we're still..." Even as Bruce says it, he isn't sure. Everything has been thrown off by Jason's arrival, and no one has found their footing yet.

Terry mostly keeps his expression steady. "Yeah, okay," he says. "So nothing to worry about! Great."

"I want to hear how you're feeling," Bruce forces out between his teeth.

"I don't really do the talk out your feelings thing," Terry says numbly. Neither does Bruce, which is why he’d really prefer it if this wasn’t happening. But it has to.

"Damn it, McGinnis, let me try!" he snaps. "This is--not unprecedented, but the last times someone from my past resurfaced, I didn't handle it well. I don't want to make any more mistakes." The mistakes he made with Tim were never the same as the mistakes he made with Jason, of course. There's a new mistake every time, so he can never learn enough to stop it from happening. There have been plenty this time. He can’t stand to think about them.

"Sorry," Terry says after a minute. "My--which feelings? About Jason? I like him. I'm glad he's around. I mean, the sex thing makes it kind of weird. But I can deal with that."

"So you're dealing," Bruce growls, not looking at Terry.

"I--yes? I don't know exactly what you want here, Bruce."

Bruce rubs a hand over his face, realizing he probably needs to contribute. "I don't know. I'm not…I still don't trust that he's real or that he won't get killed tomorrow." As usual, none of this information feels like enough.

Terry puts his hand on Bruce's arm. "I don't think he knows either. I think he'd prefer it if we found out."

Bruce meets Terry's eyes. "So we'll help him," he says cautiously. "And--help you."

Terry's expression wobbles. "I'm fine," he says. "I mean, everything stinks, but I'm fine. Just need to wait patiently until the Joker shows up and I get my family back, right?"

"Right," Bruce says, feeling the guilt of that settle on his shoulders. "Maybe Jason could help with that." He wants to lock Jason--and Terry, honestly--away in the manor or the cave until the Joker dies of old age. Hell with everyone else.

"Yeah," Terry says. "I'll ask. Hey, I'm actually pretty worn out. Maybe I'll just head back to my room, since you're still reading and stuff?"

"I'm not reading," Bruce says. "You can go if you want, but I'd rather you stayed. Let me just--" He reaches for Terry again, but stops before they touch.

"Hey," Terry says. "What did Jay say to you, anyway?" He curls in against Bruce’s chest. He feels small and heavy and exhausted.

Bruce strokes Terry's back and tucks him in. "He--wants me to do right by you, I think. He's a little old-fashioned." Or just _normal,_ Bruce imagines Jason telling him, eyebrows raised.

"I like old-fashioned," Terry says.

Bruce makes a noncommittal sound in response. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him."

"Me too," Terry says. He pulls back a little and leans up against the headboard. "You should probably tell me more, if there's anything, you know, relevant. Not his personal stuff."

Bruce is bad at picking out the one from the other. "He has a temper," he says. "I mean, he always did. He went...further than I would have, stopping criminals. Be aware of that." The limits of Jason's conscience are both personal and relevant.

"Further, like, a couple broken bones further, or further like dead?"

Bruce hesitates. "I--don't know. There were a few accidents. People falling from rooftops, windows, things like that. Jason was always too quick to use a weapon that could do serious harm, but I truly don't know if it went further than that." Bruce doesn't want to think about this, but he's trying of be fair to both of them.

"Gotcha," Terry says, frowning a little with his eyes shut. "And you're over him?" he asks. "C'mon, Bruce, you never even mentioned the guy. I figure that means you like him better than any of us."

Terry tries to land a blow so infrequently that Bruce never sees it coming. But what can Bruce say, in the face of that? It's not untrue, exactly. Jason's death destroyed his world, and Tim's arrival rebuilt it. After Tim, Bruce didn't think he'd get another chance. "I don't think anyone's as good for me as you are," he says, giving Terry only the tail end of the thought.

"Ha," Terry says, and then, "wait, you mean it?" and then, "It's because I'm so aggressively normal, isn’t it?"

"Right," Bruce says, smiling. "You--keep me on track. But this isn't just about what I need. I haven't been--doing very well. For you. Lately." He's not going to send Terry away like he sent Dick away (couldn't, probably), but he's going to at least remind Terry that while Terry may be aggressively normal, Bruce isn't.

"We've got a thing," Terry says. "It works. We'll figure it out, with my family. It's not like either of us hasn't been trying."

"I'll try harder," Bruce says. "Just go easy on yourself. I can't have you losing focus." Or losing his mind. He kisses Terry's forehead.

"Whuf," Terry says. "Yeah. Go easy? I uh--I kind of mean it about school."

"I know," Bruce says. "And I mean it about helping.”

“I missed a test today,” Terry adds.

“What?” Bruce says.

“A test. Today. I had one. Skipped.”

“Oh,” says Bruce. “I’m sure if you spoke to the instructor—”

“And told her what? Anything resembling the truth? Yeah, there’s the media frenzy we’ve been looking for right there.”

“No,” Bruce says. “Obviously not. But if you need a tutor, or therapy, or--anything. I like to think I've learned _something_ each time I--look after someone." Jason running around saying _boyfriend_ is not going to change the way Bruce talks about the relationships in his life.

"What would I even say to a therapist?" Terry asks, raising his eyebrow. He's really thinking that a _tutor_ isn't going to do any damn good, that he just needs to give up and come home and sleep until everything is fixed. He was working his way up to the words _leave of absence,_ but Bruce doing his earnest best still only gets as far as _someone else who will make you succeed._ And Terry hates being a disappointment.

"I don't know," Bruce says. He can't go to therapists. "But we'll get you back on your feet somehow." 

"Thanks," Terry says. "Right now I think I just need some sleep. I can stay here, right?"

"Of course," Bruce says. He worries, briefly, about whether Jason can handle himself alone for the night, but he isn't about to shove Terry out of bed to go find out. Besides, Jason seems calmer already.

"Oh good!" Terry says, and scoots down onto his side, facing Bruce. Long day. Week. Months. "His stuff is still in there, right? Because he might be less okay if his stuff is all gone."

"It's still there," Bruce says. "Just like it was. I locked the room and I haven't unlocked it since." He makes a little apologetic face at Terry. "I realize that I'm a cliché."

"I think I can put up with that," Terry says. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Yes," Bruce says. He isn't sure he'll sleep--he never does sleep much--but he can at least be here for Terry.

"Mm," says Terry. "Good." He leans back against Bruce and hopes that's enough to settle him.

Bruce puts his arms around Terry and pats his hair until Terry's breathing gets slow and steady. Then Bruce lets himself think about what the hell he's going to do to get Terry's family back from the Joker.

~

Jason takes the key and goes to sit outside his room. It's a good thing Terry and Bruce are both elsewhere, because Jason's totally going to sit here on the rug like a freak for hours, completely unable to make himself open the door.

After twenty minutes, though, he gets bored, gets up, and puts in the key in the lock. It's stiff, but not that stiff. Maybe Alfred used to dust in here. He really, really hopes his posters aren't gone.

But nothing is gone. There's a layer of dust over everything. Other than that, nothing has changed. Jason's CD player is still on its side, from where he kicked it over last time he was here. His posters are still on the walls, mostly, curled up and yellow. His bed is still unmade.

"Jesus," he whispers.

He goes through some of his stuff, feeling like it belongs to someone else. He doesn't feel sixteen anymore, or like someone who cares about bands or candy--there's actually a candy necklace in the bottom of the desk drawer--or Bruce.

There are no less than three notebooks with Bruce's initials on them in a box under the bed. Jason thought it was hilarious, at the time, but now he doesn't really want to look at them.

It's all really overwhelming, so eventually he just lies down on the bed, on top of the covers, and tries to go to sleep without sneezing from the dust. He doesn't think he has nightmares, but he can't remember whenever he wakes up in the night.

~

Terry knocks on Jason's door at about nine the next morning. Terry would be totally happy not to do anything at nine in the morning, but they have guests and Terry has class at eleven. His conversation with Bruce didn’t go _that_ well.

"Hey, Jay," he says to the wood. "You up?" He doesn't say _you still here?_ , because he' s not a terrible person.

"No," Jason mumbles, not fully awake. Who the hell is calling him? Not Bruce, not Alfred. Maybe Dick is here. "Go away, Grayson."

"Sorry," Terry says. "This is Batman calling, not Nightwing. Can I come in?"

It takes Jason way longer than it should to work that out. Then he says, "Oh. Yeah, sure.” He sits up, realizing his still on top of the cover, still in his boots and jacket. His box of notebooks is on the floor, next to the CD player that's probably completely obsolete.

Terry sticks his head in the door. He hasn't made himself all that presentable, since he’s wearing what was on top of the laundry pile and he hasn't yet gotten that big piece of hair on the side of his head to stop standing straight up.

"The commissioner," he explains. "She likes doing this to people who work nights."

"Ughh," Jason says. "I gotta shower first. She'll kill me if I'm not showered." Now that Terry's actually in his room, he's a little more embarrassed about it.

Terry smiles, cheeky. "Showered last night," he says. "No matter how it looks."

"It looks like you slept on wet hair," Jason says. "Did Bruce talk to you at all?"

"I _thought_ that was you," Terry says. "Yeah. Kinda. I don't really like talking things out. I'll let you get on that shower thing. Hey, I'm glad you got into your room. We should find a vacuum or something." He backs out as he talks, and shuts the door like the end of a sentence.

"Cool," Jason says. Deal with that later. He figures he can dig up some old clothes in here to wear. Hopefully Barbara won't freak out too badly when she sees him.

~

Terry heads downstairs ready for combat. Barbara gets her eyebrow up and as far as, "McGinnis--" before Terry says, "I'm clean, I'm up, how long did you really want to wait for me to do my full beauty routine?" He smiles, and she says, "Hm."

Jason trails out of the downstairs bathroom, with wet hair, torn jeans, and a faded t-shirt. He looks his age, finally, which is not really how he wanted to look to see Barbara.

"Whoa," he says. "You got cranky-looking."

Barbara says, blinking at him like she believes it, "It's called old age, Jason Todd. Plan to get used to the idea."

"That was never really my plan," Jason says. "But it looks like I may have been wrong. So, hi. Want to throw me in a room full of forensic scientists until they can figure out if I'm really me?"

"You bet I do," Barbara says.

Jason nods. "Awesome. I'd like to know, too. As it is, I have no fucking idea and I keep losing my mind. How come you became a cop, anyway? I always thought you were cooler than that."

"Cooler than what, exactly?" Barbara says dryly. "I assume you remember what you used to wear to go out at night?"

"On the job, or off?" Jason shoots back. He grins. "Missed you. Did you miss me?"

"What do you think, kid?" Barbara asks. "Come here. You might be an alien robot fake, but that doesn't mean you get out of a hug." She glances at Bruce and Terry. "That's not an open invitation, by the way."

"I don't hug," Bruce says woodenly and untruthfully. He doesn't look like he's enjoying this.

Jason, on the other hand, finally is. He hugs Barbara, burying his face in her shoulder. "Tell me you have a hot girlfriend by now or something," he says.

Barbara laughs. "A husband, actually," she says. "And hot? Ho boy, you tell me." She pulls out her phone and brings up a picture, and hands it over to Jason.

Jason stares. "Jesus Christ, Babs. Want to share, or what?"

"Jason," Bruce says a little menacingly.

Barbara laughs. "No way in hell," she says, and then, surprisingly, puts a hand on his neck and kisses his forehead. "I miss you," she says. "Things have never been the same without you. All the new kids are too damn cocky."

"Cockier than me? Wow." Jason's smiling, but he's almost clenching his teeth so he won't cry.

"So what do you think?" Bruce asks Barbara. "Dick's been here already, to offer his opinion."

"I think," Barbara says, "we'll do the tests. But if he's a fake he's pretty damn realistic. And I'd rather treat him like a friend than an alien, if you don't mind."

"Can't he be both?" Terry wonders, but he smiles at Jason to show which part he means.

"I wish I was an alien," Jason says. "Like Superman. Hey, is there any way to tell how I came back? Because that might be important."

"We should put it in the list of big important stuff to find out," Terry says. "Maybe someday we should even get something _off_ that list."

"I can help with that," Jason says. "I mean, can we agree that I'm allowed out of the house?"

"Not yet," Bruce says. “Nothing’s changed yet."

"I can go with him," Terry says. "I bet Dick would go with him. He can't stay inside all the time."

"It'll just make me crazier," Jason stays. "Come on, Bruce, being in my old room is too weird. I need to be _doing_ things. You know I could never sit still."

Bruce is just staring at him like he really is an alien.

"It didn't work on McGinnis," Barbara says. "I don't know why you think it'll work on him." She nods towards Jason.

"It already didn't work," Jason says. "I ran away pretty much immediately. And I'll do it again."

Bruce balls his hands into fists. It's still impressive when he's angry, no matter how old he is. "This is for your own good, Jason."

"Excuse me?" Jason says flatly. "What, just because I sleep in my old room and put on my old clothes you think you can treat me like you used to? Guess what, it wasn't okay then, either."

Bruce glances at Barbara and says, "I don't want to have this conversation here."

"Of course not," Terry says reasonably. "But come on, Bruce, it’s not that much to ask, is it? Anybody's gonna blow up in your face if they wake up in upside-down world and you won't even let them go outside and get the hang of anything. You can't just put life on hold until it's safe again."

"Yes, I can," Bruce says, stubborn as ever.

"I'm never safe," Jason says. "No one ever is, especially someone who's been one of us. Sorry but that's how it is." He shrugs at Barbara. "You're police commissioner. You're probably not safe. But Bruce doesn't try to keep you indoors, does he?"

"See him try," Barbara says.

"Why?" Terry says to Bruce, staring at him like neither of the others has said anything. “Why would you even try?”

“To keep him _safe,”_ Bruce growls. “Terry—”

"Then why do you keep sending me to school and out at night to be Batman, like that's the only choice I’ve got?” Terry says. “Why are you telling me to act like everything’s normal and keep moving forward? And then the minute Jay shows up, you act like the world will end if you don't keep everything in suspended animation. You think if you pull all the strings, maybe somehow one of us will turn out okay? It’s not your choice, Bruce! It doesn’t even matter if you’re right!" 

He's breathless when he stops, and he kind of expects to wake up. He takes a step back. "I, um," he says. "Don't keep your dogs tied up in the yard, is all I'm saying."

Bruce stares at Terry, hawkish, and Jason can tell he's about to say something horrible. He always gets mean when he's about to lose something, from control of a situation to a person he cares about.

"Terry's right," Jason says quickly. "We're adults, Bruce. Well, sort of." He bites back whatever he could say next.

Bruce crosses his arms and glowers at both of them. "I wasn't aware you felt that way, Terry."

"Uh," says Terry. "I really--it's complicated, right?" He shakes his head. "I should go to class, huh? Gotta do that school thing. Hope you and the commish have some good catch-ups, Jay." Terry starts to ease his way out, catching his bag off the floor without looking, eye on the door.

"Fuck class!" Jason shouts after him. "Stay here and I'll let you listen to my CDs!"

"When I come home!" Terry yells back. "It's a date!"

Jason considers that a win. "Good job, Bruce," he says when Terry's gone.

"You haven't changed," Bruce says.

"Bruce," Barbara says reprovingly.

Jason is angry enough to ignore the part of him that's screaming, _You'll make him hate you!_ "No,” he says. “Turns out I haven't. When I thought I had, I tried to murder you. Remember? Is that better? I'm starting to think that might have made things easier on you."

"Don't," Bruce says, his voice strained.

"Wait," Barbara says, holding up her hand. "First: is Terry all right? Is he really going to a class?"

"I wouldn't," Jason says.

"I can look--" Bruce starts.

"I'll go after him," Jason says. "Good thinking, Babs."

"You talk to him," Barbara agrees. "I'll give you a lift. Good thing I've got tinted windows, hmm? I don't want you locked up any more than you do, but every day the Joker might not know about you is a day in our favor. Come on, kid." She pats Jason briskly on the back, and says to Bruce, "You can come around later if you've got anything to say to me."

Jason follows Barbara out to her car, grateful to be out of the house again. The outside world doesn't seem quite as menacing this time.


	6. let me let me (trash your love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: kind of cheating, past torture / brainwashing / murder / violence, ptsd, emotional trauma

"Thanks," Jason says, settling into the passenger seat of Barbara’s car. "So, how is he? Terry, I mean."

"Oh, he's in fine spirits," Barbara says.

"Uh," Jason says.

"Which is, obviously, completely suspicious for anyone who was nearly killed in an assault in his own home less than two months ago and hasn't seen his family since. So you can see why I worry." The car's engine thrums and the car lifts off. Barbara glances at Jason. "Why? How does he seem? Keep a lookout your side, please." The last is barely necessary. Her car is equipped with enough surveillance equipment that they'll be able to find Terry if he's five blocks away. Any time now, they’ll spot him, and a tail will be easy.

Jason shrugs. "I don't know. I don't know how he was before. He's doing better than I would be, but that doesn't mean much, and for all I know, it's a front. I can't believe Bruce let him keep doing this after the Joker attacked him."

"Well," Barbara says. "McGinnis keeps his cool. And he's a tough kid. I’m sure he’s lying, but I'm equally sure Bruce would find it reasonably easy not to recognize the facts. Beyond that, it's the same deal you've got; Bruce couldn't keep him inside. So failing that, he's keeping Terry busy and virtually never cutting off communications."

"Bruce's entire concept of human interaction is a communication cut-off," Jason says. "Terry needs somebody else."

"How nice of you to join him," Barbara says sincerely. "Jason--how are you? Physically, mentally, emotionally, all of the above."

"Shitty," Jason says. He stares out the window at the alien landscape of his city. "But not as shitty as I thought I'd be. I already stopped seeing things, mostly. And I haven't tried to kill anyone since the first night."

"That _is_ good,” Barbara agrees. "Any other symptoms of mental instability? If you're worried about them, maybe we can do something."

"How would I know?" Jason asks. Barbara hasn't gotten any less intimidatingly sensible in her old age. "I want to hit everyone, but that's normal. I didn't try to sleep with Bruce. That's a sign of maturity and sanity, right?"

"It most certainly is," Barbara says. She doesn’t saying any of the many thoughts she has had about Bruce and his protégés over the years—including Terry, who otherwise _is_ sane and mature.

"But I've barely been back a day," Jason says. "And I don’t remember the stuff—between, so I'm probably not—you know, totally normal. That's assuming I'm not a mind-controlled evil clone. Shouldn't we have caught up with Terry by now?"

"Sure," Barbara says. "We have. Sorry. He's there." She points to a little symbol on the screen between them and takes a left. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but it looks to me like we're going to school."

Jason laughs. "You're kidding. Wow. He really is perfect. I figured he had to be a little fucked up to sign on with Bruce, but I'm sensing that's not necessarily true."

Barbara can't help looking a little angrier. "The only thing wrong with Terry McGinnis is that he's tenacious to a fault. Once he decides you need him--well, you see how that goes."

"Tenacious is important," Jason says, watching out the window. "If you're gonna have all this awful shit happen to you, anyway. I think he doesn't hate me." That's an understatement for how nice Terry's been to him since he got here.

"He certainly doesn't seem to," Barbara says. "Except for Dick in the early years, we always had someone else, you know, someone other than Bruce. Terry's never had that, and now his friends have moved away from Gotham and his family is--I think you're the first thing he's seen that looks like a kindred spirit in some time. I think he might even be mostly right."

Jason tucks his chin into his hand and stares more intently at the traffic. He shouldn't be blushing this much, but it's really nice to hear. "Thanks," he mutters. "Hope so. He's really great. Hey, listen, what—where are they? His family? Do you know?"

Barbara's expression closes down. "No one’s told you?" she asks. But of course they haven’t. Terry and Bruce are Terry and Bruce. Although she’d hoped for more from Dick. "I don’t want to say anything, in that case. It’s Terry’s, you know.”

Jason grimaces. "Oh. Gotcha." He doesn't know what to ask next, because most of the questions start with _Why hasn't Bruce...?_

But Barbara knows. She nods her head slightly. "Go ahead and ask the awkward questions," she says. "I think you’ll find someone to answer all of them."

"I'm glad I finally got to talk to you," Jason says. "I'm not afraid I'll hurt your feelings. I just--Why the fuck hasn't Bruce done anything about the Joker? Why hasn't he done anything about _Terry_? What did he do to the one before Terry? Why hasn't anyone just chucked him in Arkham for a few weeks already?" That last isn't really fair, but Jason's upset.

"Oh, kid," Barbara says. "I wish I knew." She smiles grimly at him. "I don't think you and Tim would have gotten along very well. Steph, maybe--I'm sure you'll meet them both, if you see a lot of Dick. But you might want a bit of background on Tim, if you want to be ready for him at all."

"Uh, yeah, getting that sense," Jason says. He likes to think he could have dealt with the Joker just fine and come away feeling awesome about it, you know, if he hadn’t died, but not everyone is him, and that doesn't account for whatever happened before. Still. "Some people don't cope well," he adds.

Barbara looks at him sharply. "Don't talk about what you don't know," she says.

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Between you, Dick, and Bruce, I'll never find out what went down."

"I didn't say that," Barbara says. "I meant, shut your mouth until you know what you're talking about. Which you will, if you give me five seconds to tell you over your grandstanding."

"Oh my God," Jason mutters, "you grew up into your dad. Only meaner." He smiles tentatively to show that he doesn't mind.

"That's what they tell me," Barbara says. She pulls into a parking lot and stops. "Already there. McGinnis drives fast." She nods toward his car, a row over. "So," she says. "Tim Drake. He was a fan."

"A fan of _what?_ " Jason asks.

"You," Barbara says.

Jason starts to say _creepy_ , but he cuts himself off, in case that's another thing Barbara will object to. "Huh!" he says instead. "Like, when I was Robin?" Presumably not after. He could definitely call that creepy.

"Yes," she says. "You and Bruce. He followed the news. Followed it home, I guess you could say--he knew who you were. After you died, Bruce--was not himself. Tim decided he'd spent enough time on the sidelines, marched up to Wayne Manor, and informed Bruce that he'd better be Robin."

Jason shakes his head. "Wow. Guess that takes balls. And Bruce let him?" Bruce let him, but after Jason went and _died_ \--But the more he hears, the more it sounds like Tim was Bruce's attempt at getting right what he got wrong with Jason.

"Not at first," Barbara says. "But Tim's always been persistent. I'm not sure that didn't save Bruce's life."

"And it stopped him from killing the Joker," Jason says before he can stop himself. "Tim showed up and _fixed_ things so Bruce didn't need to do that, and then, well, I guess he paid for it, didn't he?"

"Jason," Barbara says, "I don't think Bruce was ever going to kill the Joker. Oh, he would have hoped for it, I'm sure. But I think in the end he would have let the Joker kill _him."_ She doesn't need to say what it was like, watching that.

"He's a coward," Jason says, and then wonders why he bothered. It's the most obvious fact about Bruce, even more than _he's insane_.

"Maybe," Barbara says. "And his heart was broken. It's not an excuse, but he was...lost without you. That's why Tim was right, that he needed him." She shakes her head. "But you're right, too. Tim got hurt because Bruce never had the guts to get rid of the Joker for good."

Jason nods, satisfied. If Barbara agrees, maybe he's not totally off base, here. "And now Tim's ruined. I'm ruined. But I guess Dick got out okay. He's great. Also, way hotter than when he was, like, twenty.'

Barbara laughs. "You're not the only one who thinks so," she says. "Do you want to know what happened?"

Jason swallows. No. "Yes."

Barbara nods. She can't quite look at Jason while she's saying it, though, even less than she could when she told Terry.

"He was kidnapped on patrol. We didn't find him for weeks. When we did, Joker and Harley Quinn had turned him into a kind of--miniature Joker. He tried to kill Bruce and me." She does look at Jason, here. "I think Bruce _would_ have killed Joker, then, but instead he went and got stabbed in the leg. It was Tim who finally did it. Harley told him to shoot Bruce, and he turned the gun on them."

That's worse than Jason thought, and worse because he can't quite picture it. It's too much and not enough information. "Wow," he says softly. "All Joker did to me was beat the shit out of me and blow me up."

"We thought we had it dealt with, is the worst part," Barbara says. "And then a few years ago, Joker came back. Except it wasn't him. It was Tim. It was what he'd left in Tim."

"And now Tim's--What, still alive? Still functional?" Jason asks. "I take back what I said about coping better than him." He feels so sick, but he can't stop here.

"He's doing okay," Barbara says. "He's got Stephanie and Dick to help him, after all. And no, before you ask, the Joker who's back now is not Tim Drake."

"Good," Jason says fervently. "Thank God for small favors and all that. But the Joker _is_ back. And he's still hurting people. He's going to hurt me, when he finds me. But not if I hurt him first." Jason is, oddly, not afraid of the Joker anymore. He's afraid of what he'll see if he meets Tim Drake, but that's not the same fear.

"We don't know where Joker is," Barbara says, trying to subdue the anger in her voice. "But he knows where all of us are. We got to keep Terry, but it’s costing us." She scowls. "He wants it to make us resent each other, of course. It's all a goddamned game."

"No more games," Jason says flatly, blood pounding in his ears. Bruce used to tell him on a weekly basis that fighting crime wasn't a game, and Jason thinks that Bruce never knew what that meant. Jason knows, now. "I'm going to end him," he says.

"Listen!" Barbara says. "That's great, and I'm in complete agreement. Not that I want anyone repeating that at my workplace. But if you go off on your own trying to fix this, you could all end up dead. And that's not going to happen."

Jason hesitates, coming back to himself. "His family? I don't want to get Terry's family killed. But I'm also not gonna let this lie. Neither's Terry. Neither's Dick." He needs to know if he can get Tim in on this, too.

"Hmm," says Barbara. "Well, I suspect that's true."

"I'm gonna check on Terry," Jason says. "Thanks for the lift."

"You think you can get him to drive you home?" Barbara asks.

"Getting boys to drive me home is a specialty of mine, "Jason says. He hops out of the car. "If not, I'll walk. Trust me, I'll be fine."

"Better be, kid," Barbara says. "Get the ride. I'll see you around."

"Thanks," Jason says. He shuts the door and saunters toward the school, realizing he has no idea where to find Terry. That's okay. He's good at this kind of thing. Besides, he can ask some kindly secretary or something. He picks a building at random, looking for signs that says "Business" or "Class For Wearing Boring Suits When You Grow Up."

It ends up taking around fifteen minutes to find the right classroom, and then he only succeeds because Terry happens to be yawning at the moment he looks in.

Jason grins. "Gotcha," he whispers. It's a big enough class; he can probably get away with pretending to be a student. He sneaks in the door at the back and, mouthing an apology at the professor, slouches down in a seat in the last row.

It just goes to show how alert Terry is, that he doesn't even turn around at the sound of the door.

Then Jason sits through the most boring half hour of his life, talking himself out of throwing a pencil at the board. Terry must be either an idiot or a genius to be able to study this stuff. When it finally looks like they're wrapping up, Jason slips out again and leans on the wall in the hallway, waiting with his arms crossed. It's his "picking up boys" stance.

Terry almost walks past him, but he pulls up short and takes a second glance.

"Didn't believe I was coming to school?" he asks. "Or was it just time to run away from Bruce again?"

"Why would I run _here_?" Jason asks, pushing off the wall. "Barbara drove me. We figured you were storming off to do something stupid. Turns out you just reaaaaally like boring graphs."

Terry glances around and lets his professor go past before he answers. "Can I tell you how much I don't?" he says.

Jason nods. "I saw you yawning. Figured it wasn't _just_ sleep dep. You don't strike me as a business school kind of guy." He's not entirely sure what kind of guy Terry does strike him as yet, though.

"Ugh," Terry says. "Let's not. You want me to take you home, or go get ice cream or something?"

"Ice cream!" Jason says. "Uh, I mean, some totally mature response that also means yes."

"Awesome," he says. "Car's over there. Barbara's kind of a badass, huh?"

"Yeah," Jason agrees. "I guess I always knew she would be. Not surprised she and Dick didn't last, although they'd make a better couple these days."

"Hah!" says Terry. "Shoulda known. Out of interest, did _you_ date everyone you knew? Because it kinds of seems like everyone else did. Does."

Jason shrugs. "When you have a small social circle...I mostly hooked up with people I didn't know too well, though. Except Bruce, of course. And, uh, Dick. Obviously. Not obviously?"

Terry shrugs. "No social circle," he says, pointing to himself. "Well--Bruce and some girls who weren't into hooking up with me." Dana had thought she was interested, to be fair, until Terry made an effort to be around enough that sex came up as a possibility, and she realized she really, really wasn’t. Too gay. Max was never interested. Too into robots.

When Terry and Jason make it home, ice cream safely eaten, Bruce is waiting for them. He looks grumpy, which means chagrined.

"I thought you'd be out all night," he says, not quite looking at either of them. He's always awkward in this role, half parental, half jilted boyfriend unsure of whose fault it is.

"Probably," Terry says. "Homework first."

"I'm sorry I was--demanding," Bruce says. Not quite right.

Jason snorts, disgusted.

"Appreciated," Terry says, and shrugs. "If you'd been nicer maybe we'd have brought you ice cream. Next time you'll know."

"Hm," Bruce says. "Well, take the night off from patrolling. The streets are quiet."

"And he's got homework," Jason says. "For the world's most boring class."

"What?" Terry says. "Were you there the _whole time?"_

Jason coughs and looks at the ceiling. "Not, like, the _whole_ time. I was in the car for part of it."

"You didn't take notes, did you?" Terry says. It's hard to say if he's being hopeful or sarcastic.

Taking notes was actually the one thing Jason loved about school. He could at least make that interesting. "A little," he admits. "Only on the desk, though."

"Jason," Bruce says, then seems to realize he has nothing to follow it up with.

"Damn," says Terry. "How about did you memorize the lecture? Because I don't remember any of it."

"You were asleep," Jason says. "And I might as well have been. Half of those words weren't even words. Is that what you studied, Bruce?"

"I failed out of college," Bruce says, the corner of his mouth twitching. Jason figures that's progress.

"Did you study business?" Terry says. "Because I can understand that."

Bruce actually laughs. "Yes. I know it's not as interesting as fighting crime--"

"So why does Terry have to do it?" Jason asks.

Bruce blinks and doesn't answer.

"Because," Terry says, "you can't leave your company to someone who's not even your family if they don't even know business, and expect it to work out. Lucky me. And that's the cue for homework time."

Bruce makes a face like he's not sure how serious Terry is. He settles for saying, "If you need me to look over anything--Well, just because I failed out of Princeton doesn't mean I can't help with your homework."

"Gee, thanks, dad," Jason says. "I think Terry can manage." He hopes Bruce knows he's not being malicious, just cocky.

"Ugh," says Terry. "Excuse me while I go manage somewhere else. Call me for dinner." He waves at them and trudges purposefully away.

Jason rolls his shoulders and looks after Terry. "Great kid," he observes.

"I know," Bruce says, frowning.

Jason sighs. "Listen, Bruce, I know you never had to deal with the whole overbearing father thing, but you might want to think about what you're doing. Does Terry want to run your company?"

"Doesn't matter," Bruce says. "If he wants the resources to continue being Batman after I'm gone, he'll need my estate at the least. And he needs to know how to manage it."

"Can't Lucius Fox do the business stuff?" Jason asks. Then he pulls up short, the breath knocked out of him by the realization that Fox would be--too old to be alive. "Never mind," he says quickly.

Bruce rubs his eyes. "I know," he says. "It's a lot to handle at once. Are you--" He promised to try with Terry, but it's hard in different ways, with Jason. "--are you all right? So far?"

"Kind of," Jason says. "I’ve never been great, you know? I'm not trying to kill anyone or waking up screaming--much--so that's okay. But other than that, this blows. If Terry wasn't here, it would really blow."

"Hmm," says Bruce shiftily.

"He's cute," Jason says. Trying to piss Bruce off will accomplish exactly nothing, but it's all he remembers how to do with Bruce. Maybe it's all he ever did.

"I know," Bruce says again, sternly this time. He raises his eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me he's too good for me, too?"

"You need me to _tell_ you?" Jason asks. Mean. Unfair. But he's not over being angry yet.

Bruce's expression closes off. "It was a risk for you to go out with Barbara like that," he says.

Jason's whole body goes tense. Yeah, he remembers these lectures. "She didn't seem to mind," he says. "Did you already forget what Terry said? You're not in charge of what I do or where I go. I'm not your sidekick _or_ your fucktoy anymore. Got it?"

Bruce growls, "It's not only _about you."_

"What's the difference?" Jason snaps. "If you keep making the same mistake over and over, what does it matter which one of us it's about today?"

Bruce glares at him, tight-jawed and silent. "I don't know," he says finally. "Maybe it doesn't."

"I would say I'm not gonna let what happened to me happen to Terry," Jason says, "but it's pretty much too late. But I'm not gonna let him be _alone_."

"I-- _good,"_ Bruce says. He's tried to protect Terry from being alone, but increasingly he feels too clumsy and jaded to protect anyone from anything. He narrows his eyes and turns away. "I can see you're good for each other."

That's true, and Jason is still surprised about it. It may not last, but he's going to try to make sure it does. "We'll be good for you, too, you bitter asshole, if you let us," Jason says. Bruce probably doesn't deserve to be thrown a bone, but Jason feels bad.

"Hmph," Bruce says, with effort. He tries to banish the rising, terrible reaction that it's too late for them to be good for him, that he has ruined them, and all they can do is remind him of what he's done. "I might not be a very smart investment," he says, gesturing to himself.

"What do you know?" Jason says. "They kicked you out of business school." He punches Bruce's arm, because he's too wound up to hug right now. "Listen, I'm gonna watch cartoons while Terry works. I'll see ya later."

Bruce smiles at that. "Yes," he says. Assuming nothing tragic comes out of Jason's--revival, this is the best thing to happen to Bruce since Terry.

Jason goes to find Terry, glad that he couldn't keep his rage at Bruce burning for more than a few hours.

~

Jason goes to Terry's room, feeling a little better about everything. No one's bleeding or yelling, which, while not very exciting, is probably what they're aiming for. And when he looks at Bruce now, he sees a whole person, not the monster who left his death unavenged, or the hero he saw before.

Right now, he just wants to see Terry. He knocks and opens the door at the same time, to be polite.

It's not polite enough, but the sound of the books hitting the floor covers up the sound of the door opening. It's books, floor, and then Terry's face is buried in his hands.

" _Shit,"_ Terry says unevenly, "Shit, shit." It gets mostly quiet after a second.

Jason hesitates a second, but he's not a total asshole, so he says loudly, "Uh, hey! Terry! You--around? Uh, busy? Sorry."

Terry doesn't quite jump. He rubs his eyes with his arm before he turns around, but it doesn't hide the fact that he’s crying.

"Uh," he says. "Can I--do you--?" No, forget it, nowhere to go from there. He just blinks at Jason and waits for the universe to maybe rearrange itself better.

"I'm here now," Jason says firmly. He doesn't really do awkward about emotions, even if he doesn't always understand them. "C'mere." He hugs Terry, assuming that if Terry doesn't want a hug, he'll punch Jason out or say so or something.

Terry doesn't do anything that easy, just twists uncomfortably because he doesn't know whether he wants Jason to stay or go, choking back the noises he's almost making because he can't just--he's been _really careful,_ now he's...

He tries to say, _It's fine, I just really hate homework,_ because Jay will know it's a lie but he'll let it go--but Terry doesn't want it let go. 

Jason lets Terry out of the hug, but he keeps his hand on Terry's arm. "Hey," he says, "sometimes you just need to completely fucking freak out. That's okay. Even for someone like you who's used to keeping it together." Especially for someone like that.

"I, uh," Terry says. He doesn't feel like he's gotten to do his freaking out, yet, and suddenly it feels like he _won't_ get to, and he kind of wants to jump out of his skin and start screaming. _You don’t even know._

"I mean it," Jason says. "Lose it. How can you not lose it?” _You don’t know._ Don't worry, I'm right here. I'll bring you back."

It's that last one. Jason knows _that._

"I didn't," Terry starts, and then he's just sobbing. If someone attacked him right now, on his own, he'd be dead, because he can't see straight and his limbs feel too numb and shaky to move how he wants. He's got a dozen things to explain, sitting in his head, grabbing this kid’s shoulders and getting his shirt all wet, and he can't get out a single word. He sag-lurches towards the bed, trying to let go of Jason in case Jason doesn't want to come along.

But Jason goes with him, holding on and falling onto the bed beside him. "I know," he says. "I know, I know, fuck, I know." His nails dig into Terry's arms. "I’m right here."

"'M'afraid he'll fall apart," Terry explains, not the heart of it, but the reason he's being so pointlessly good.

"It's not about--" Jason starts, but that tactic has never helped any of them. "Now you have someone else to go to," he says. "Don't kill yourself over Bruce's delicate emotional balance."

"I. Can't. I," Terry tries. "I...something has to be okay, I--I want my _mom."_

Jason knows that feeling too well. It's what got him killed. "Terry," he says fiercely, "Your mom’s going to come home. Your brother, too. We’ll get rid of the Joker, and they’ll be fine."

Terry looks at him like, _Really? Please? Are you sure?_ and Jay has no idea if he can make any of that happen, but he wants Terry to _feel_ safe as well as _be_ safe.

"I _promise_ ," Jason says.

"I just keep--he was _this close,"_ Terry says. "He'll do that to them. He'll--he can kill me, he can definitely kill Bruce."

"He can't kill me," Jason says. He gets his arms around Terry better. "Been there, done that. I'm not afraid. I'm going to make sure you and Bruce don't have to be afraid, either." He doesn't bother saying that the Joker would never, ever kill Bruce.

"Hey, if we could just _find_ him," Terry says, "I'd help you kill him."

"If you help me find him," Jason says, "I'll take care of the rest. No connection to your family or Bruce. Just me and my grudge, for all he knows."

Terry sits back on his bed, leaning on his hands and staring at the ceiling. "Yeah," he says. "I don't think I care if there's a connection. Let's do it, y'know? I bet Dick would help. Probably not Tim. I've never even talked to Steph. But Dick would definitely help."

"You're brave as fuck," Jason says. He almost says _crazy_ instead. "Wow."

"What for?" Terry says, looking surprised.

"You know, some people wouldn't even want to be in the same _city_ as the Joker after getting almost murdered by him," Jason says. "That ever occur to you?"

"I don't _want_ to," Terry says.

"But you're still willing to go after him. See? Brave." Jason gives Terry's hair a little tug.

Terry gives a little sigh, and then looks embarrassed.

"What?" Jason asks. He tugs Terry's hair again, just to see what'll happen.

" _Uhmm,"_ Terry says, and now he's definitely pink.

Jason chuckles. "That’s cute as hell." If he were anyone else, he'd probably cut it out. But he doesn't owe Bruce anything, and he wants to make Terry feel better. "I'm gonna play with your hair," he says.

"Wait, though, are you actually twelve?" Terry says. "I'm gonna feel way worse about—everything, if you are actually twelve."

"I remember twelve," Jason says. "I promise I'm a little bit older than that. So, nothing to feel bad about, right?"

"Maybe," Terry says. He grabs Jason's hand and pushes it away, but not hard. "Depends on what you're doing. Also, are you gonna keep looming up there, because I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"I could come down by you," Jason says, flopping by Terry's side. He should probably stop. This is probably mean. "Just want to make sure you're okay. Really."

"Right," Terry says, raising his eyebrow. "You know, tomorrow we're going to get you checked up and make sure you're not an evil cyborg. Ready for that?"

"So ready," Jason says. "Fuck, I really hope I'm not. I'm just starting to like it here. This is way better than when I--left."

"Really?" Terry asks. "Wow. That's...I love Gotham, but..."

"It's cleaner," Jason says quickly. "Besides. It's good to have you around."

"Cute," Terry says. "I don't object to having you around, either."

"Can I kiss you, or what?" Jason demands.

"I, but," Terry says. He wants to say yes? He wants to say _yes!_ No. "Hang on. Bruce? I—" It's not even like Terry and Bruce have the kind of relationship where Terry can't see people in the normal ways. They just have the kind of relationship where making out with Bruce's past might be a little weird. And emotionally unstable teenagers aren’t always climbing into Terry’s bed and covering for him in the middle of a breakdown and _asking_ Terry to make out.

"It's Bruce," Jason says. "Bruce always has a million people on the side. It's--that kind of thing, you know?" But again, Jason is probably living in the past. They might all be dead, for all he knows. But at least one of them won't be. "What about Superman?"

"Who, now?" Terry says, still looking at Jason in this groggy, maybe-we-will-make-out-now way.

"Uh, _Superman?_ " Jason says. "Hunky alien who saves the world and lives in Metropolis and sometimes has sex with Bruce?"

Terry shakes his head slowly. “You said that before,” he says. “But I don’t know…”

"Wow," Jason says. Maybe Superman flew off into space and left them all years ago. "Uh, okay, but he's gotta still have Lex around, right? Man, what does Lex _do_ with himself now that there's no Superman?"

"Well, the only Lex I know is President Luthor, so that's probably not the right one," Terry says. "Or it is, because Bruce is loaded, but I've never heard him say anything."

" _Um_ ," Jason says. "Excuse me, but how is a supervillain president? What, of the United States?"

"Definitely not the same," says Terry. "Not a supervillain. But yeah, he's been president forever! Of the United States, even."

Jason shakes his head. "Jesus. Yeah, the future is fucked up. But listen, I guess the real question is if any of Bruce's reasons for not wanting us to make out are _good_ reasons."

Terry smiles, bemused. "No," he says. "Not--not really. I just don't want to---" Just because he _can_ get with other people doesn't mean he _does._ Doesn't seem fair to anyone.

"No pressure," Jason says. "I kind of like that we're being friends. But I figure friends can ask to make out without it being awkward."

"I didn't mean I don't want to make out," Terry says.

"Yeah, I could tell by that noise you made when I pulled your hair," Jason says.

"Uh," says Terry. "I think we're getting to that place where if you talk about it more, it's _never_ going to happen."

"So fuck it," Jason says, and he kisses Terry, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him close.

"Mmmm--mph," Terry says.

Jason kisses Terry a little more, then pulls back enough to smile and check that it's okay. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," says Terry. Definitely blushing. "Are you a kid?"

"Sixteenish," Jason says quickly, hoping it sounds more like "nineteenish."

Terry says, "Okay, guess I was _almost_ fighting crime by then. Jesus. But I wasn't--okay, but are we good? Is it all right?"

Jason ignores the interesting bit of information in there and says, "Yeah, I promise. You're not a creep. I'm the one who should feel like a creep, ages aside." He doesn't feel like a creep. He feels awesome.

"You're not," Terry says. "But you do kind of talk a lot."

Jason kisses him again.

Terry lets that last for awhile, trying really hard not to completely melt. It's just a kiss, and it's nice, and it makes him feel better. He doesn't need to get needy at some kid that understands everything and is kind of into him and is also really—really attractive.

"Hey," he says, pulling back. "That was nice."

"Yeah," Jason says, grinning. "You're a great kisser. This is better than the crying thing, right?" He gives Terry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah," Terry says. "Yeah, that's better. Hey, I should--" He waves at his textbook, which is still on the floor. "--I should probably do my homework."

"Are you kidding?" Jason asks. "Right now? Homework can go to hell. Let's watch--do you have videos?"

"You want to watch a movie?" Terry asks. "I mean--yeah, I guess I could. You want...what, a classic or something?"

"I'm not talking Molly Ringwald or anything, but yeah, sure," Jason says.

"Right," Terry says, like he doesn’t really know what Jason’s talking about, but doesn’t want to tell. "When in doubt, Star Wars? That’s golden age, right there. Right?"

Jason grins, and doesn’t explain that in that case, Molly Ringwald is, too. " _Yes_."

"The fourth one," Terry says. "I mean the first one. I mean--you know what one I mean, right?"

"Um," Jason says. "There are more than three Star Wars movies? Can we just see the original?"

"Right," Terry says again.

Jason snuggles up to Terry a little. "Great. Let's just...do that."

~

By the time the droids land on Tatooine, Jason's arm is around Terry, just comfortably resting there. He waits until Mos Eisley to start patting Terry's hair.

Terry is scootched down against the headboard, since watching movies from a tiny laptop on your bed is apparently the new normal, and he doesn't protest. He seems a little fidgety, is all.

"C'mere," Jason mutters, "you're blocking my view." It's not true, but it's a good excuse. He hauls Terry closer and squeezes him tightly, pulling his hair once, hard.

"I'm not really cuddly," Terry tells him, putting his elbow across Jason's stomach, slightly rough in retaliation. "And I don't really hook up."

"I'm not cuddly either," Jason says, in the face of all evidence. "But I totally hook up. But not if you don't want. I just want to pat your hair, okay?" He doesn't really care if Terry thinks he's a weirdo at this point.

"Weirdo," Terry says. But he's more relaxed, now, and by the time their heroes start getting eaten by an asteroid, he's mostly asleep, curled up in Jason's lap.

~

Jason leaves Terry asleep at the end of the movie--the kid clearly needs his rest--and wanders downstairs to find out if Bruce knows how to feed himself.

"Hey," he says. "I have questions."

Bruce grimaces. He was hoping Jason would stay out of the way, if only to give him time to think. "What else?" he asks. "I know you spoke with Barbara." Who almost certainly told Jason more than Bruce would.

"Yeah," Jason says. "Not about that. Three things. One: do you want dinner? Two: when are you going to tell Terry he can quit going to _boring_ school? And three: where the fuck is Superman and why the fuck is Lex Luthor president?"

Bruce's mouth twitches, and his eyebrows crease. "That's four questions. Let's start with dinner."

"Is that yes?" Jason asks.

"Yes." Bruce forgets to eat, sometimes, but he's been better about it since Terry moved in.

"Cool," Jason says. "We didn’t really eat lunch. You remember I suck at cooking, right?"

"I remember," Bruce says. "You're not the only one. We can talk about this while you try to burn the house down."

"God, does takeout not even exist anymore?" Jason asks, climbing the stairs.

"It exists," Bruce says. "Sometimes Terry gets it. I can't help being old-fashioned. Jason, just because you didn't like school doesn't mean Terry feels that way."

"I know that," Jason says, instantly annoyed. He tries to tone it down, because yelling at Bruce now won't help Terry. "But he does. I mean, who cares if he usually does? He's scared and fucked up and he doesn't have time for completely mind-numbing business bullshit 101."

Bruce grimaces and heads for the kitchen. He knows Terry is having trouble, but--"It's better for him to keep doing normal things," he says. “If he needs help with that, we’ll get him help.” As if Bruce has any idea how to recover from trauma. He's terrified already that he's getting it wrong (again) and that Terry is beyond help.

"Right," Jason says slowly. "But, he's only doing it because he thinks he's got to. For you. Okay? Trust me on this one."

"I didn't know," Bruce says numbly.

"Yeah, well, he didn't want you to," Jason says uncomfortably. “Didn’t you talk to him?” Bruce looks too upset. Jason can't help feeling bad, and, okay, he did just make out with maybe Bruce's only other real friend in the whole world.

"Damn it," Bruce mutters. "All right, I'll deal with it." He mentally adds it to the handful of concerns he's already trying to juggle. He didn't mean for all of this to go so badly.

"Just tell him he doesn't have to go," Jason says. "Okay? He's like a little you, all workaholic, no time for himself. Sometimes you gotta be bossy with those ones." He smiles, to show he's not mad.

"I--" Bruce clears his throat. "I missed your clear thinking, Jason." He gets a pot out of the cupboard and begins to fill it with water. "You're right, of course."

"Course," Jason says, feeling his heart ease up. "Is this pasta night? Pasta and butter night? Tell me Terry cooks better than us. He's got to, right, he's fucking perfect."

"Mm," Bruce says. "He can cook some, yes. Jason..." He doesn't know how to say any of what he's feeling. He probably _shouldn't_ try to verbalize it. He finally settles on, "Thank you for helping him."

Jason laughs, and then stops. "Oh, you're serious. Of course you're serious. Well, listen, I'm gonna try, because he's being real nice to me and I know where he's at, and, hell, you like him, and he's a cutie. But I'm not doing anything that great."

"You never realize how much you do for people," Bruce says thickly. "I didn't tell you that when you were alive. I'm telling you now. You and Terry were both godsends. Now--Maybe we can at least all help each other." He hands Jason a box of pasta.

Jason just stands there with it dumbly. It's not like the water's boiling, or even close, so he should put it down, or--

"I--thanks," he says. Now he does feel bad. Good and bad. He can't decide if it's better to skip ahead to the Superman question or ruin the mood with the telling part of kissing and telling.

Bruce sighs. "So I guess that answers some of your questions. I honestly don't know what to say about Lex, except that people have poor taste and short memories."

"Yeah, says you," Jason answers. "But _president?_ And seriously, where the fuck is Superman? He ditch you now you're all old?"

"I don't know what you’re talking about," Bruce says shortly. 

"Kinda seemed like Terry didn't even know who he was," Jason says.

"Neither do I," Bruce says.

"Okay," Jason says, feeling a little sick, trying not to feel his stomach drop. "Wow. You know, every time I start thinking the future doesn't suck as much as the pre--the past, I end up changing my mind thirty seconds later."

Bruce frowns. “Jay, I’m sorry. But I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “Okay. It’s probably just a glitch in my robot brain or something. Don’t worry about it. God, everything is so weird.”

"I know," Bruce says. "That's the trouble with living, I suppose. Things change. And you lose things. But sometimes you get them back. You weren't gone forever."

Jason smiles, pushing the Superman question as far out of his mind as he can. "You know, I can see how Terry is so into you. Who cares about change? You're still here. And you’re _hot._ "

Bruce had forgotten Jason's ability to render him speechless. "Don't try to flatter me," he says finally. What he means is, _Thank you._

"Yeah," says Jason. Now the water is boiling, almost. Close enough. He dumps in the whole box of little bowties and stirs them around. He shouldn’t have kissed Terry. Bruce is all alone.

Bruce watches the bubbles fade out and turns the heat up. "They won’t cook like that,” he explains. Jason nods. Bruce frowns. “Jason, are you all right?"

"Yeah," Jason says. "Sure I am." He fidgets.

Bruce looks at him helplessly. "How's Terry?"

"Sleeping," Jason says. God, he feels like a little kid now. A little, bad kid.

"I just--" Bruce says and stares intently at the wall. "I want him to be all right. I'm glad you're here, because I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Don't be glad," Jason blurts out. "Don't be glad. I'm sorry. I didn't--" God, he feels like shit. He doesn't know what he was thinking. He's just here, fucking up and making everything worse.

"Hey," Bruce says, spinning to face Jason and taking his arms gently. "Jay. What is it?"

"Don't," Jason says. "Don't. I kissed your stupid boyfriend. I--I was mad, and, shit, I was lonely, okay? And it wasn't his fault, it was my fault."

"Oh," Bruce says, more of a breath than a word. "Is that all? You had me worried." It's not something Bruce wants to hear, but he's not going to complain, either. He can feel something start to shift, a heavy weight that's been settled on his chest for a long time.

"Is that--?" Jason starts, and then he's crying, because he's a huge fucking mess and Bruce is looking at him like a person again, and he isn't even mad.

Bruce doesn't even hesitate this time. He just pulls Jason close. "Jay. It's all right. It's all right."

"No, it's not," Jason says, clinging like it's the only thing keeping him alive. "Don't be fucking ridiculous, it's not--"

Anything after gets sucked out with his breath.

He remembers. He remembers part of what he's been trying to keep at the edges. He's known since he woke up what happened to him, more or less, but like a little set of grim facts that don't hurt, that don’t bear remembering, not more than in a dull and distant way. But this isn't like that. He can feel the heavy space in time between the blows. The waiting, the trying not to brace himself because it will only hurt more. He can remember realizing that he's going to die.

"It will be," Bruce says, voice steady despite his desperation. "You and Terry, you'll take care of each other. I promise."

"Yeah," Jason chokes. "Yeah, I...sorry, I just. Remembered. A little." He blinks hard. "It really hurt."

Bruce has never been able to stop remembering, imagining, destroying himself for letting it happen. "I--I’ve got you now," he says. “You’re safe.” He can say that as many times as he wants to all of them, but it doesn't change how many times he's failed to save them.

Jason looks up at him a little incredulously, like maybe he hasn't understood the problem. "It hurt," he says again. He was scared. He knew he was dying. Joker made sure he knew. He can feel the tears running off his face.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "Jason, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I--" He can never be sorry enough.

"Please, can we just _get_ him this time?" Jason asks, voice cracking. He's shaking all over. He needs to say this, to Bruce, alone, but he wishes Terry were here.

Bruce has a rule, and he's never broken it. But he's tried. When the Joker took Tim, Bruce would have. When he did half a dozen other things, Bruce would have. But somebody always stopped him. There's no one here to stop him now, and he should say no. No, there are rules about these things.

"We'll get him," Bruce says. He'll say anything and mean it to get Jason to stop hurting.

"If you're lying I'll hate you forever," Jason says, which is probably not true. He's already proven he can't, hasn't he? He buries his face in Bruce's shoulder and feels his tears soak through the cloth.

"I don't want to make you hate me forever," Bruce says, gripping Jason tightly. "I don't want you and Terry to be afraid anymore. I don't."

"You either," Jason mutters.

Bruce doesn't know what he'd be without the ingrained fear. "Well," he says into Jason's hair, "you're here now."

"You think I'm real?" Jason asks. They'll double check no matter that the answer is, but that doesn't bother him.

"I do," Bruce says. Not at first, but now. If he's an idiot for hoping, so be it.

"Fuck," Jason says, sagging against him. And then, "Fuck! Water's boiling over."

It's the least important problem to have, and he's so fucking grateful for it.


	7. it's time for me (to fall apart)

Jason waits until dinner is ready, fills up two big cups of soda (since when is there soda in the house? Terry must drink it), and brings them to Terry's door. He knocks with his foot, which isn’t very effective.

Things are quiet for a couple seconds, and then Jason can hear Terry getting up and unlocking the door.

"Hi," Terry says. "Oh--is it dinner? I was doing homework, kinda lost track." He opens his door the rest of the way, and Jason can see books out on Terry's desk. Well, that's _almost_ like sleeping.

"It's soda," Jason says. "As an invitation to come and experience more of the exciting world of dinner. I can't really cook. I hear that you kind of can." He tries to edge inside so he can at least set the cups down.

Terry lets him in. "Kind of," Terry says. "In the way where all the ingredients can come from more than one box if they have to. Sorry to keep you waiting."

Jason shrugs. "I know everything's a little intense right now. For you. I mean, I'm doing fine. At least, you know, considering. What I mean is, you can lean on me. And all that."

Terry nods distractedly. “Hey,” he says. “Before you run off in a cape and try saving the day or anything—we were talking before, but—I mean, there’s a reason no one’s doing that.”

“Bruce is a coward?” Jason suggests.

“ _No,”_ Terry says. “It was part of the deal. Joker screwing with people. Only the _cops_ can look for him. In the deal. And if he catches anyone else, he kills my—” Terry’s painful grin freezes and fades, and he shakes his head. “Don’t go doing heroics,” he says. “That’s all.”

“Shit,” says Jason. “Sadistic fucker. He fucking sidelined you?”

“Yeah, and if I could think of any way to get around it, you can bet I’d be doing it.” Terry sighs. “Instead I’m on patrol every night. And going to class. And keeping my head down. Like a good boy.”

“That’s _bullshit,”_ Jasons says, scuffing the floorboards with his toes. “Well, if you need any help with…anything. I can help. Like, useful stuff. Hugs.”

Terry laughs, and then there’s a pause, and he says abruptly, "Kisses are like boyfriends."

"Uh," Jason says. He fights off approximately sixteen joke responses and instead says, "Are you saying you want to date me, or that we shouldn't have kissed?"

"I'm saying I--" Terry starts. "I'm saying I probably shouldn't have kissed you, yeah."

"Because of Bruce or because of me? Because there's a pretty big difference."

"Bruce," Terry says. "Kind of. I mean, yeah, Bruce, but me, also."

"You?" Jason echoes. "But you're the normal one."

"Yeah," Terry says. "That mean I can't have hangups?"

"It means you're perfectly eligible," Jason says. "I get it if you have too much going on right now, but I think you're really cute and I want to kiss you, and if that means boyfriends, then--I don't know. I like you."

"Oh," Terry says, swallowing. "You decided quick. You don’t know, I might be a complete jerk."

"If you suck, I'll kick your ass," Jason says. "But you're Bruce's friend, and you're cute, and you've been really nice to me, anyway. I don't know too many nice people? Yeah. Anyway, I've never met anyone my age who I liked this much." Never mind that Terry isn't _quite_ Jason's age. And who knows, it might be a huge mistake for Jason to go around trusting people.

"I don't," Terry starts. Well, crap. He didn't expect this to turn into a confession. "What about Bruce?" he says.

"Bruce needs to work out his shit," Jason says. That's probably not fair. "I think you guys should talk. I promise we're not gonna abandon him, though, really. I couldn't do that."

"Whoa!" Terry says. " _We’re_ not going to what now? I didn't say--what do you mean, _we should talk?_ You didn’t tell him to break up with me, did you?"

"No!" Jason says. "Maybe I should have, but I didn't. Look, my meter for gauging how healthy a relationship is has been busted since I was _born_. That's why I'm letting you two work things out, if there's anything to work out." He doesn't add that Bruce might reach a breaking-up conclusion on his own.

"If--what?" Terry is backed up against his bed, not on purpose. A few minutes ago he was just going to say that he doesn't do cuddly and he doesn't hold hands in public, he doesn't do casual, he doesn't date more than one person at once. Draw some lines. That was it. Now he's getting cornered by this kid and getting told-- _what?_

He didn't know there was anything wrong. He doesn't know if there _is_ anything wrong. Terry's all Bruce has. Bruce has been Terry's family since they met, and he's the only part Terry can reach.

"Oh, God," Jason says. "God, I'm sorry. I just meant to bring you soda." It didn't really occur to him that in some areas, _he's_ the one with enough distance and perspective to not get freaked out. Terry is actually speechless, just staring at him now.

"Want me to get Bruce?" Jason says, so fast the words all blur together. What is he _doing_ , he barely knows Terry, he's going to ruin everything.

Terry nods. “That would be…” he says.

Jason flees. "Fuck," He mutters. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." This, at least, feels familiar ground. Jason is bad, Jason is breaking things, that's _normal_. He pelts into Bruce's study and skids to a halt. "Little help!" he says.

“I thought you were calling us to dinner,” Bruce says.

“ _Terry,”_ Jason says.

Bruce folds down his (nice, normal, old-fashioned) newspaper with a snap. "Where's Terry?" he asks, nearly a snarl.

"Upset, I upset him," Jason says. "He's in his room, he's really upset, I really fucked up." He bites his lip and, against all logic, gives a shaky laugh.

Bruce gets to his feet and grabs for his cane, and strides past Jason. He pauses long enough to lay his hand against Jason's hair, and then hurries toward Terry's room.

When Bruce gets to Terry's room, he doesn't bother knocking. No time. He wishes he could move even faster. "McGinnis," he says, pushing the door open.

Terry is still where Jason left him, standing against the bed and staring.

"McGinnis, what is it?" Bruce growls.

"Jason said," Terry starts.

"Jason said _what_." Bruce puts his hand on Terry's arm and squeezes.

Terry looks down at his arm in Bruce's hand and feels so dizzy with panic that he has to make this awful noise just to keep from blacking out a little. 

"Well, he said I'm cute," Terry says.

"Terry," Bruce says more gently, but still insistently. "That's not so bad, is it?" But something is bad.

"No," Terry starts to say, but then he can't see right, and he can hear himself sobbing like it's killing him. He feels like he's falling down. He must be, because Bruce is holding him up. 

"McGinnis," Bruce says roughly. He pulls Terry against his chest, feeling Terry's body shake in his arms. This is too familiar. When Terry doesn't stop, Bruce pushes Terry onto the bed, sitting awkwardly beside him without letting go.

Terry clings on, fighting to fit words into the sounds he's making. "My dad is dead," he tells Bruce, trying to explain. He hits Bruce in the chest, only a little, only to make everything stay real. He pushes back, runs his hand through his hair, latches on again. "My d-dad."

Bruce shuts his eyes. "I know," he says. He understands that part. That part is always true, with every person who comes into his life.

"If I can’t," Terry tries to say, crouching forward, clinging to Bruce's shirt. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Bruce says. The complicated, heavy weight of all the bad choices he's made is irrelevant in this moment. He kisses Terry's jaw fiercely. "You’re mine. And we’re going to fix this. Understand?"

Terry drags in air, over and over. "I d-don't know what to _do."_ With Bruce, with the Joker, about his family. With Jason, now. “I can’t do anything.”

"I--" Bruce swallows. "I made Jason a promise. I told him we'd get rid of the Joker. I'm promising you both. Terry.” He lifts Terry’s chin. “Deal or no deal, your family will be safe. We’ll get them back. I _promise_ I’ll get them back for you." 

"Hah," Terry says. "Really?" He's almost catching his breath, but he still feels sick and hollow because of everything Jason said. He can’t explain that things can’t go wrong between them, because then Mom and Matt will die, just like his dad. It’s not rational. He can’t help knowing it.

"Really," Bruce is saying. "These last couple of months have been--bad. I know that. And I know it needs to end. And that I need to—go easier on you." He sighs. "It may have taken a sixteen-year-old yelling at me and crying to get me to realize that, but I do, now. I just wanted to keep you—occupied. So it wouldn’t be as bad."

Terry looks up at Bruce with his eyebrows all pinched and worried. "He yelled at you?"

"Jason needs the Joker dead and you looked after," Bruce says roughly. "He's always been a very angry person."

Terry looks at his knees and blinks hard. "So weird. Why does he need anything from me?"

"Because," Bruce says. "He likes you, McGinnis. I've never seen him be this _nice_ to somebody."

"Yeah, well," Terry says. "He did ask me out, kind of."

"He did?" Bruce shouldn't be so surprised. "He doesn't do that, either."

"Yeah?" Terry says. "I tried to tell him I'm kind of a, a one at a time guy, but he--" He scuffs the heel of his hand on his pants. "He s-said you and me weren’t much of a thing anyway."

Bruce sighs, frustrated and stuck. There's no point saying they probably shouldn't be. That one never worked for long. "He was trying to help, I think."

"What, help himself into my pants?" Terry says. He looks up at Bruce, and Bruce winces. It’s been too easy to avoid seeing this. Usually with Terry there’s no _this_ to see. It’s what makes him different from the others. But Bruce should have known even Terry would have limits. 

"If I left you,” Terry says, “I'd mess everything up."

"I--don't want you to leave," Bruce says numbly, thoughts interrupted. He hardly ever gets past this part to _But it would be better for you._

"I don't mean I'd _leave_ ," Terry says unhappily. "Not like _away._ No, that's not, I don't--" He catches himself and takes a deep breath. "That's just what Jason said, and it kind of caught me on the raw. It's..." He counts off a few seconds, and then finishes, "Is there something--I mean, is he right? Is that...happening?"

Bruce has been brave about this exactly once in his life, and he and Dick have never been able to banish the chilliness between them. "No," he fumbles. "Not entirely. But I want you know that if someday the person you're being _one at a time_ with isn't me, that's all right."

" _Not entirely_ sounds kind of like yes," Terry ventures.

Bruce takes a deep breath. "Do you, in all honesty, believe that this is something you want forever? As the one stable relationship in your life? I--ruin people. You’ve met the others. You know Jason now. You can see that. And even leaving me out of the equation, there's so much more you could have."

Terry meets his eyes, hurt and worried. "But I," he says. "I mean, you're--is this just because he yelled at you?"

"It's because you deserve something good," Bruce says shortly. "And because I want to be able to take care of someone without--sleeping with them." He is never this honest with himself. Maybe he _is_ breaking up with Terry.

"Oh," Terry says shakily. He tries to keep breathing right. Not the time to completely freak out (again). "Are you going to die? Or kick me out? I’m just checking."

"I already said I didn't want you to leave," Bruce says. He feels as though he's stopped breathing, and he can't start again yet. "And if I didn't die before, I won't die now. And it would be a little unfair to hate you for a choice I'm making, McGinnis. Think about it." He gives Terry a stiff smile.

"Shit," Terry says after a few seconds.

Now Bruce does hold his breath.

"Are you making _me_ pick?" Terry says, and grins through his tears. "Thanks a lot, old man. I just--" In a second he thinks he gets it, maybe, he hopes. "I could live without the sex, if you really want to dump me, but I don't--please just don't go away. I don't want to screw anything up, I just want us to come out all right." He can't believe he's even saying this. He really needs to call Max.

"I couldn't live without you," Bruce says. He's always found a way before, but Terry is--he's Batman. And Bruce cannot live without Batman. “I'll be here, whatever the circumstances."

"Shit," Terry says again, leaning his face against his hands. "I'm just--this whole thing is screwing me up a little."

"I know," Bruce says. "Bad timing. Here." He pulls Terry into a hug, to remind him that he still loves him.

Terry hugs back, and then doubles his attack, holding on tight enough that it feels like he might break something.

"Can we revisit this breakup thing?" Terry says. "If it's the worst idea ever?"

"Always," Bruce says, no matter how stupid a thing to say that is. It will always be true. He doesn't give people up, even when he goes through all the motions.

Finally Terry relaxes. He still looks pale and red-eyed and a little wounded, but he's not falling apart anymore, and he's sitting next to Bruce like he still trusts him. This is the best outcome Bruce could have hoped for. It also hasn't happened before. Bruce doesn't really know what to think. He looks over the top of Terry's head and chuckles.

"Are you laughing?" Terry asks, sitting up. "You dumped me, you jerk. You don't get to laugh."

"No," Bruce says, still laughing, "Sorry. I'm laughing at myself. I've never had this go _well_ before."

"So glad to improve your record," Terry says. His expression falters, but he picks it back up. "You want a soda?" he asks. "Jason brought them up."

Bruce wishes he hadn't brought that soda into the house. He picks up a cup. "I'm proud of you, Terry."

"For acting like a big kid?" Terry asks. "Yeah, I'm great. But I still get to feel crappy about this," he adds.

"I know," Bruce says. Just as long as Terry doesn't leave. As long as Terry doesn't hate him. He takes a sip of the soda. "Mm. This is disgusting."

"I know," Terry says. "It was a nice thought, until everything sucked."

"Jason's not good at--" Bruce thinks it's probably unfair to criticize Jason, but. "People. He's not good at people."

"Good to know, moving forward," Terry says. "Don't get me wrong, I like him a lot. Is he always this pushy?"

"Yes," Bruce says. That's an easy answer. "He's also bad at subtlety and self-control." He frowns. "I hope he's all right. He knows he shouldn't have said those things to you."

"You want to go find him?" Terry says. "You want me to go find him?"

"Let's go together," Bruce says.

"To show we're alive," Terry agrees. "And prepared to take him down for his crimes."

Bruce laughs. "I think he'd appreciate the former and deserve the latter. Let's go."

When they find Jason, he's in the kitchen. He has a pot of water, overfilled with cheesy noodles, smoking on the stove. He looks hollow-eyed and miserably angry.

"Oh no," he says when he sees them. "No, come on, I wanted to make you a good dinner, but I'm still in the part where it's ruined. I was just trying to make it hot again."

"It's okay," Terry says.

"It's not!" Jason says. "I fucked up your life and then I fucked up your dinner. Are you okay? Because if you're not, I'll go. I can go to, like, a homeless shelter or something."

"No, you should stay," Terry says, firmly, because Jason probably _would_ leave.

"I wanted to make dinner," Jason says again. He's definitely been crying.

Bruce is pouring milk over the pasta and stirring it with all his might.

"You're making dinner," Terry says. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you really okay?” Jason asks. “I didn't mean to _do_ that. I'm sorry."

"Kinda got away from you?" Terry asks. "'s'okay."

Jason nods. "I seriously thought I was helping. I wasn't being a jerk or an evil alien clone on purpose."

"Yeah, I know," Terry says, glancing over at Bruce.

"Dinner rescued," Bruce says abruptly. "Simmer off the milk. I'll be in my study till it's ready." He gives them both an encouraging, sort of frightening smile, and leaves.

"I don't love it when he does that," Terry says.

"He's really bad at people," Jason says. "Speaking of, did he help at all?"

"Uh," says Terry, instead of, _That’s what he said about you._

"Oh no." Jason's face falls. "Fuck, I'm sorry, did I fuck everything up?"

"Not your fault," Terry says. "I double checked."

Jason sags. "Good. I don't want to wreck your life, man, I want to help you. But I can back off now."

"Appreciated," Terry says. "Uh--but that’ll be a backing off _me,_ not a backing off me and Bruce. That's not...that's not a thing anymore."

"Oh," Jason says. "Uh. But you said—But it wasn’t me, right? That was Bruce?" He can't even be that happy about it. Everything is too upsetting and scary and crushes don’t matter.

"You might have helped," Terry says. "But breaking up isn't the worst idea ever, probably. I mean, now that I know." Now he knows that it's not the same as putting a gun to Bruce's head.

"You took it better than Dick, anyway," Jason says, smiling a little and opening the fridge to see what he can add to pasta.

"Give it time to sink in," Terry says. "I'm really easygoing, but who knows."

"Even Dick came out okay, though," Jason says hopefully. "Man, I'm sorry, what a shitty few months for you. Do you still want to watch a movie?"

Terry doesn't answer. He sits down at the kitchen table instead, backwards on one of the chairs.

"Uh," Jason says. The fridge door is still open and a bag of cauliflower is dangling from his hand. "Or I could let you get some rest."

"No," Terry says, his voice catching. "Movie sounds good. More Star Wars, maybe?"

Jason lets his breath out too fast, and Terry can hear the relief. "Okay. Wow. Yes. Sounds good."

"I'm not mad," Terry says. "You just freaked me out." He's hiding his face against the chair back.

"I know," Jason says. "Sorry, I suck at being sensitive." He still sucks at it, an hour or so later. He hopes Terry knows that.

"I can make that if you want," Terry says, still talking into the chair.

"Okay," Jason says miserably. "Or there are fries. Um, I'm sorry. Do you need--things? Any things?"

Terry nods.

"Tell me the things," Jason says, because this is terrifying. He'll never guess right.

"I know I said no touchy-feely," Terry says, sounding all wrong, "but I would be pretty okay with a hug."

"Oh, fuck, yeah, I can totally do hugs. Get off the stupid chair and come here." Jason half pulls Terry upright and into his arms, where he holds on as tight as he can.

"It's okay," Terry says. "I have to stop doing this. But it's okay. I mean, he's right. You're right. Nothing bad is going to happen just because we're not in the same bed, right?"

"He lets you sleep in his _bed?_ " Jason demands. "Wow, lucky. But no, you're totally right. You're just messed up as fuck right now. Trust me, I get it. I can't sleep for shit."

"Of course not," Terry says. "I'm--hey. Listen. Can we...not _start over,_ that's not what I mean. Can we—refresh, or something? Start clean?"

"God, I hope so," Jason says fervently. "Yeah. Let's--we're good. Good guys. We’re gonna be awesome together."

Terry laughs, looking rumpled around all the edges. He doesn't want anything but to watch a good movie and eat good food. It’s okay food, but he'll settle, and he wants Bruce, but he can deal. And when he's not going nuts, Jay is really comforting to do that stuff with.

"I can fix this," he says, pushing past Jason to the stove. "Just gimme a few seconds. Get me another pot? For the vegetables. Hey, we should bring some more chairs down to the cave and we can make Bruce watch it with us on his big screen."

Jason's heart clenches. "Oh," he says. "Oh man, could we? Really? Let's do that. Then we can all--yeah." Everyone's gonna be okay. Everyone.

"Of course we can," Terry says. "He can't stop us if we gang up on him, right? Ace'll help."

Jason had forgotten about Ace. Ace, who may be a new dog, but he’s a good dog. And he’s alive. "Ace'll sit on my lap."

"Bet he will," Terry agrees. “You just try to hold him.” He takes the pot from Jason and drops the cauliflower in.


	8. your heart beat in reverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some minor violence

Things are calm for the next couple of days. Terry goes out like normal. He tells Jason to _stay_ in the same breath as Ace, which is obnoxious, but at least he’s in pretty good spirits. 

Unfortunately, Jason’s about as good at responding to orders as Bruce is, so tonight, before Terry’s off the property, Jason has borrowed one of the old Batcycles and taken off after him. Despite what everyone’s been saying for the last few days, things are going well. There’s no reason Jason should be paranoid enough to stay cooped up in the manor with nothing going on. Besides, Terry could probably use a little unseen backup. Just in case things _don’t_ go well.

Terry parks and goes on foot in a sketchy-looking back lot inside the city limits. Jason follows, as quickly as he can without definitely getting caught. He tails Terry for awhile. When Terry’s been-- _they’ve_ been--patrolling for about half an hour, the bat signal lights up. Terry takes off, Jason behind him. 

Jason is wearing his leather jacket and heavy boots that make it kind of hard to keep the spring in his step, but he’s pretty sure this is the closest he’ll get to feeling like Robin any time soon. It’s great. Terry moves fast--faster than Bruce--and he’s got all sorts of tricks Jason doesn’t think existed when he was alive.

Instead of trying to follow Terry to roof of the police department, Jason breaks into a neighboring building and onto the rooftop from inside. He doesn’t think Terry (even with his tricks) has noticed him. But Babs has sharper eyes than Terry, and Jason doesn’t want to get sent home early. Jason watches Terry and Babs talking across the way, Terry gesturing with his back to Jason’s building.

“Too bad he’s not yours,” something whispers.

Jason rolls his shoulders uncomfortably, trying to ignore the unwelcome thought. Terry is his, kind of. Maybe, getting there. “Fuck off,” he mutters, eyes on Terry.

“Terry McGinnis, self-proclaimed _bad boy,”_ says the voice. “What does that make _you_ , little Jay?”

“Worse,” Jason says. He shivers. Something is fucking wrong. Maybe he’s losing it again. He shouldn’t have gone outside. “I shouldn’t have--” He shakes his head and looks around.

He can’t see anything, but the voice is still there. “Feeling a little crazy, are we?” There’s a quiet chuckle, like the start of something bigger and awfuller. _Wait,_ Jason thinks. “Maybe last time I shouldn’t have hit you so hard in the head. What do you think, _Boy Wonder?”_

“No,” Jason says. “No, no, no.” He spins around again, trying not to remember, trying to focus on how close the edge of the roof is.

“I just go so _into_ it, you know?” says the voice. Jason still can’t see anyone, and it seems to come from everywhere. “I mean, maybe not as _into it_ as I got with Timmy, and, ooh, there’s something to be said for corrupting a proverbial boy scout, but _boy howdy_ were you a rush!”

Jason takes a step backward, toward the edge of the roof, but then he remembers what he told Terry. He’s not afraid. He tries to hang onto that long enough make it true. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says, hoping it’s not all in his head. “And so is Terry. And Tim. Even Bruce. We’re all gonna kill you.”

“You always were the violent one, weren’t you?” the Joker says, and then he steps into Jason’s sight. “And here you are, right back to your good old self!”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jason says, partly in agreement, but mostly because _fuck yes_ , this is almost certainly not a delusion.

“A real brute!” says the Joker cheerfully. And then his voice goes low. “I really should have taught you manners before I killed you.”

“I’m a shitty learner,” Jason says. He tries to focus on how furious he was with Bruce and Terry at first, and how furious he is _for_ Terry now. He raises his fists. “You haven’t got backup and I don’t see a gun,” he says. “You really want to mess with me right now?”

“ _You don’t see a gun,”_ the Joker repeats, the words slipping out of his throat like snakes and steel. “Well, now that you mention it, I don’t either! Whatever am I going to do?” He plucks a tiny grenade out of his sleeve and lobs it at Jason. It explodes quietly, in a cloud of gas that catches Jason’s lungs and drags him down. By the time he can see, Joker has a mask, and his foot is coming down on Jason’s chest.

Jason screams. His lungs are full of gas, and the sound comes out strangled and hoarse, but it should be loud enough for Terry to hear. He coughs and kicks at the Joker, but he feels too weak and heavy to get his body to do what he wants. “Batman!” he shouts raggedly.

“Batman!” Joker says. “Batman! Bruce! Save me! Help me! I don’t want to die!” He smiles slowly, leaning down on his foot. “I don’t know what makes you think the new boy can save you. He’s just like all the--uh oh. Time to go.” The weight of his foot leaves Jason’s chest. “Nice seeing you, sidekick.” Joker waves and laughs and runs for it.

Jason’s eyes are watering from the gas, and he’s sobbing, curled up in a ball on the rooftop. He can’t stop remembering the sounds, the floor, the flat-out terror.

“Jay!” Terry is yelling. Jason can hear him land, can hear his footsteps pounding across the roof. “Jay!” He drops to one knee where Jason is lying and says, “Hey, it’s me, don’t freak, okay?” and then scoops him up and runs.

Through his sobs, Jason chokes out, “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m bad, I’m a bad kid, sorry.”

Terry can’t do anything about it, not while they’re on the move. He says, “Bruce!” not because he knows what Bruce is going to do about it, but because he has to check in. _He_ can’t freak out, because he has to get them out of here. He can’t drop Jay. He can’t fall down. 

He has to take a longer route, getting back to Barbara, and he’s scared until he makes it that by the time they get there, she’ll be gone, or dead. 

“Get safe,” Bruce snarls in Terry’s ear. “Good. You’re doing a good job.” His voice is shaking so hard.

“Jason!” Barbara says. She beckons to Terry, brisk, like he’s one of her officers. He sets Jason down without letting go, keeping his breath steady even knowing he’s going to feel like hell in half an hour or so. “Keep your eye out,” Barbara orders, kneeling, and Terry nods, getting up to stand watch. 

“Hey, kid,” Barbara says, taking hold of Jason’s arm. “Look at me, all right?”

“Nnn,” Jason says through his teeth. “Gonna see him if I do.” This is his fault. He put Terry in danger, and now Terry’s going to be so upset.

“You want that to be me, or Terry, or Bruce?” Barbara asks.

Jason whimpers. “I want to go back,” he says. “I want to fucking die.”

Terry hears that, and Barbara is glad she can’t see his face. First things first, though. In this family, first things has usually been youngest. She throws her arms around Jason and holds him so tightly he almost can’t breathe.

“You get up,” she says. “You let Terry take you home. You take care of each other, got it? We’re not going to lose this game, and I’m not going to lose _you_ twice.”

Jason coughs and finally looks at her. She looks--brave. “Promise,” he says. “S-sorry. I’m ready to go home now.” He looks at Terry. “All okay, see?”

Terry offers him a hand and pulls him up. “You should--be safe,” he says to Barbara. It’s funny, kind of, that his Terry voice and his Batman voice are basically the same. 

Barbara, standing, says, “Oh, he could get at me anytime, and I’ll have the same security around me anytime. I don’t think that’s of much interest.” She holds up a hand. “I’ll be careful, though. Get home safe.”

“Hold on,” Terry tells Jason, and they get from the roof to the street as fast as they can safely do it.

“I’m sorry,” Jason starts again, more calmly this time. “I put you in danger. I really, really didn’t think anything would happen. I just got—fed up.” He’s clinging hard to Terry’s suit, but there aren’t as many places to cling on this model.

“You want down?” Terry asks. At Jason’s nod, Terry sets him on his feet, and they both start off toward the Batmobile. “It’s not your fault. No one’s gonna blame you for--how did you get here, anyway?”

“I stole one of the old Batcycles,” Jason says. He’s still a little wobbly. “Surprised you didn’t notice me. I just wanted to get out of the house, you know? I thought I’d follow you and keep an eye on you.” Now that he says it out loud, it’s pretty embarrassing. “Guess I haven’t gotten the memo that I’m not Robin anymore.”

“Says who?” Terry says. “We can tow the bike. Batmobile has a rear gravity lift for that kind of thing.”

“Gravity lift,” Jason repeats. “Wow. Uh, are you okay?”

“Adrenaline,” Terry says. “Don’t know yet.”

“Let’s go home to Bruce.” Jason really badly wants to hold hands, but Bruce never really liked that, and they should at least wait until they’re in the Batmobile. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready at all.”

“Is anyone ever?” Terry says. They walk in silence for a good block before he says, “What you said. You’re not--you’re not a bad kid.”

“I don’t do what I’m told,” Jason says bitterly. “And then I get myself killed, and hurt people, and--Look, I really messed up your night.”

Terry stops dead in the empty street and spins Jason around, hard. “ _Get_ yourself killed?” he demands. “Sorry, Bruce, going offline a minute.” He cuts communication before Bruce can object. “You think it’s your fault some sadistic murderer who’s had a hard-on for Batman for forty years decided to come after his kid? You think that’s your fault?”

“Yes?” Jason asks, before he can stop and think about the fact that he sounds like a fucking idiot.

“Thought so,” Terry says. 

“Bruce used to yell at me a lot,” Jason starts, not really sure what he’s saying. “Uh, about how I was doing things wrong and I should listen more, and how it wasn’t--wasn’t a game. And I didn’t believe him. Maybe you did it all right, but I didn’t, and it _was_ my fault. I ran away to find my mom and then the Joker killed me. He killed both of us.”

Terry wants to nod and start walking on like it’s no big deal. He tries to, even though that’s cowardly.

But he can’t.

Instead he says, “Jay,” and then just stands there being useless in the middle of the street where the Joker might be watching. He wishes he weren’t parked so damned far away.

“My birth mom. She gave me to the Joker,” Jason says flatly. “And then he killed us.”

“Yeah,” Terry says unevenly. “I can completely see how that’s your fault.” 

Jason rubs a hand over his face. “Uh, God, can we just go home now? I don’t even care about the motorcycle.”

Terry says, “We should grab it. So no one else does. But we can hurry it up. Can I give you a lift? I know it’s not dignified.”

“Dignity isn’t really my thing,” Jason says, throwing his arms around Terry’s neck and letting Terry lift him. That, at least, feels safe.

~

As soon as the Batmobile pulls into the cave, Bruce gets out of his chair and strides over to them. He looks angry, but they both know him well enough to tell that he’s worried sick.

“You said it would be a minute,” he tells Terry.

“I’m sorry,” Terry says. “I’m--sorry, I forgot to bring them back. But the Batmobile’s system was online, wasn’t it?” He’s suddenly too foggyheaded with fear and relief to understand, immediately, that Bruce didn’t call them in the car because he was too angry at thinking they’d been killed on the way there. “Sorry,” he says again, uselessly.

“Just--” Bruce raises his hands. “I, damn it, both of you, this isn’t--you can’t--You scared me.”

Jason hasn’t heard Bruce admit that too often. “Sorry,” he says miserably.

“Might’ve been after you,” Terry says. “Might’ve been after me. I told you, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s the Joker’s fault,” Bruce says. His voice is tight and gravelly. “I’m just glad you’re both all right.”

Bruce _really_ never says that.

“Oof,” Jason says. “Think I need to sit on the floor.” He does, putting his hand on Terry’s boot.

“I think I need out of this suit,” Terry says, and pulls his mask off. He doesn’t look as bad as Jason expects. “But I could go out again?” he says to Bruce. “I mean, it’s not like the Joker’s just _not there_ anytime we don’t see him. I still don’t know what the commish wanted me to check out.”

“I’ll call her and check in,” Bruce says. “But you’re only one person and there’s only so much you can be expected to do in a night.” He looks as relieved as Jason is to see Terry’s face.

“Sure,” Terry says. “But I mean, if she needs me I can go.”

“I’ll check,” Bruce repeats. “For now, sit down and get a drink of water. Both of you.”

Jason nods numbly. “Got it. Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack. Are you really okay, McGinnis?”

“Yeah,” says Terry. “Think so. You had me freaked out for a minute there, though.” He smiles ruefully at Bruce. “I’m really sorry about going dark. Got a little distracted.”

“Just--don’t do it again.” Bruce clears his throat and raps his cane on the ground. “I’ll call Barbara. You two, stay put.”

Jason shakes his head and stares, still a little wide-eyed, at Terry. “I _thought_ you’d freak,” he says. “You didn’t freak. Thanks. You saved me.”

“Duh,” says Terry. “I’m Batman.” He’s watching Bruce leave. “So much for getting a glass of water, huh?” 

“I can get it,” Jason says, but he stays put on the floor. “I want to fucking cry. Am I just never gonna be able to leave the house again without that happening? I mean, how do you do it?”

“Honestly?” Terry says. “It’s easier to freak out if you’re alone.”

“So what you’re saying is, maybe I should come out with you more often,” Jason says, only half joking. “If I can keep a lid on my panic response. Ha.”

“You almost get used to it,” Terry says. “The panic.”

“We’re so fucked,” Jason says, almost cheerfully. “But you’re brave as hell. If you can do it, so can I. If Bruce can handle worrying about us.”

Terry nods, small and curt. “Usually I’m a little more careful,” he says.

“To keep in touch?”

“To make sure I’m in control of who sees me.” 

“You--” Jason needs to word this so it sounds nice and not weird or creepy or messed up, but he can’t think straight. “The way you got out there, it was the way Bruce used to be. All focused and--intense, and taking care, and--thanks. You’re definitely Batman.”

“Thanks,” says Terry. “I should know _something_ after four years, but it means a lot to hear it from you.”

“So I guess you don’t hate me,” Jason says.

“What? Of course I don’t hate you. What, ‘cause of Bruce?”

“Because of any of it,” Jason says. “Because I followed you, scared you, got you dumped? You’re the nicest guy ever.”

Terry shakes his head, because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He settles for, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re sweet.” Jason stands up and kisses Terry’s cheek.

“So I’m told,” Terry says, raising his eyebrows. “Hey—wanna hang out when Bruce is done with us?”

“You bet your ass,” Jason says, weak with relief.

“Great,” says Terry. “I was really—I know he was messing with us, but he was way too close.”

“What do you think he wants? Has killing us gotten old yet?”

“Must have, right?” Terry says. “He hasn’t killed me.”

“So, what? Fuck with us ‘til we lose it? It’s a little late for that. And I don’t think Bruce is gonna crack.” If he survived everything that came before…

“Yeah?” Terry says, cutting off that moment of optimism. “You seen him lately?”

“Is he worse?” Jason asks. “I—honestly, I can’t tell.”

“He’s old,” Terry says. “When I met him he was living alone, just him and the dog. Nobody’d seen him in public in years. The company was barely his. Anyway, you ever seen him apologize like that?”

Jason realizes the face he’s making is way more horrified than the situation calls for, but he didn’t really think about that ‘til now. He wants to take care of Bruce, but it’s been so long that he doesn’t know if any of his methods are right.

“Then we _definitely_ need to get the Joker,” he says, maybe desperately. If it’s not too late for that to matter.

“Yeah, I know,” Terry says. “Whatever the old man has to say about it, Joker needs to go. I’d have done it myself by now. I just haven’t gotten the jump on him.”

“Because he’s been hiding,” Jason says. “Since he hurt you.”

“He’s definitely been hiding,” Terry agrees. “As far as the cops can tell, he was barely here the first time. He’s kept amazingly quiet, for a guy with such a big mouth.”

“As far as the cops can tell,” Jason repeats, suddenly uneasy. “Terry. Just take care of yourself out there. If he can do that to me, he can do it to you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Terry says.

Jason squeezes Terry’s hand. “All the old people are on board,” he says. “You know. With the takedown. Well, not _all_. Bet I can wow Tim with my sexy Robin powers, though. Unless he’s, uh, over that.” Jason is never sure of the line between lightening the mood and being insensitive.

Terry frowns. “I’m not sure anyone’s told him you’re back,” he says. “We should give Dick a call. You think Bruce’s chat with the commish is going okay, or d’you think he’s lurking halfway up the stairs waiting for us to admit our dark secrets?”

Jason’s eyebrows go up. “If he’s lurking, you should probably admit a secret or two so he’ll be satisfied and bring us our water already.”

“Gotcha,” Terry says, and then says loudly, “It’s true! I have feelings! The Joker is scary, and I hate school!”

Nothing stirs in the shadows. Then Bruce says, from just out of sight, “You really hate school?”

“Yeah,” Terry says. “It’s the worst.”

Bruce sighs and comes back down, water in hand. “Then I suppose we’d better see about withdrawing you.” He offers the glass of water to Terry. “Barbara can get along without you tonight.”

“Schway,” says Terry.

Bruce ruffles Terry’s hair, pausing for a moment to decide whether he feels awkward about it, and deciding that it’s not awkward enough to stop. “I’m going to do some research,” he says. “You two need sleep.”

“Uh huh,” Terry says dubiously. “Night, old man. You can keep the dog. I’ll keep Jay.”

Jason’s not sure he likes the comparison, and he’s too wound up for sleep, but he wants to get Terry out of here, too. “Night,” he agrees, getting to his feet and taking Terry’s water. As soon as they’re upstairs, he says, “You good?”

“Me? I’m basically a prodigy,” Terry says. “Your place or mine?”

“C’mon,” Jason says, grabbing Terry’s arm. “Yours, kiddo.” He marches Terry back to his room, glad to have someone else to hold it together for.

“Hey,” says Terry when the door shuts. “ _I’m_ okay. You’re the one he grabbed.”

“ _This_ time,” Jason says. “Besides, watching people get hurt is worse.” By a very small margin, maybe. Now that he’s died, he can confirm that.

Terry looks at him properly, which means maybe he wasn’t, before. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’m a little wired. You need a hug?”

Jason thinks they both do, so he’ll go for it, even though overall, hugging isn’t very high up on his list of effective physical comforts. He hugs Terry, though, tightly, clinging a little. Terry hugs him back and then tugs his hair.

“Did you call _me_ kiddo?” he asks.

Jason laughs and leans into Terry’s hand. “Yup. I figure I have more life experience than everyone else around here put together. Even if I _am_ the baby.”

“Fair enough,” Terry says. He pulls away to flop down on the bed. “I’m putting on cartoons,” he says, gesturing to his computer, sitting on the bureau. “You can chill out with me or get completely horrified again about how we’ve ruined classic entertainment.”

Jason shakes his head and sits next to Terry. “You pretend to be the most together guy on the planet, but I’ve seen you freak out. I don’t care if you do. Tonight was fucking terrifying.”

“Would it help if I freaked out?” Terry asks.

“Hell if I know. It doesn’t help me. Mostly sex and hitting people help me. And cartoons,” he adds quickly.

Terry nods. “And cartoons,” he repeats. He shifts down, hands behind his head. “I freaked out enough the first time,” he says. “I’m feeling kind of done with that.” He smiles tightly. “Now I’m just mad.”

“Yeah,” Jason says carefully, eyes on the screen. “You were way calm. Barely even surprised.”

“I was worried about you,” Terry says. “Bat mode. I’m still a little high, actually.” 

“You’re actually a way more awesome liar than I thought,” Jason says. “I’ll let you get away with it for tonight.” He’s probably lying. Jason is pretty sure. But Jason is finally coming down from the fear and starting to get settled, and he doesn’t want to do anything to disrupt that right now.

“Thanks, boy detective,” Terry says ironically, turning on something not totally mindless. “Move over, you’re making me uncomfortable perching up there.”

“Didn’t want to get in your space,” Jason says, getting in Terry’s space.

“Well, you already kissed me, and I carried you across Gotham,” Terry says. “So I think we’ve reached the _watch cartoons somewhere on the same bed post-near assassination_ stage.”

“That’s where I like to be,” Jason says, and weirdly, it’s true.

“Schway,” says Terry, making room and throwing an arm over Jason’s shoulders.

“Worst word ever,” Jason says, snuggling up to Terry.

“Whatever,” Terry says. “You’re just _un_ schway.”

“So it’s like cool. What other stupid stuff have they made up? Are condoms still a thing? Hate condoms.”

“Uh,” says Terry.

“Don’t tell me,” Jason says. “You don’t know about Superman and you don’t know about condoms.”

“I _know_ about condoms,” Terry says. “Love ‘em. Great stuff.” It’s slightly less awkward than what he almost says by reflex, which is, _Get used to them or give up trying for me._

“Figures,” Jason sighs. “Some bad boy you are.” The Joker’s words echo in his ears, just a little too real, and he shivers. They’re close enough that Terry can feel it. He puts his hand on the side of Jason’s neck.

“Who ever told you I was a bad boy?” he asks over the computer.

“Barbara,” Jason says. “But trust me, bad boys know how to dress. Speaking of dressing well, let’s give Dick a call first thing tomorrow.” He almost adds, _Wow_ your hands are nice.

“Sure thing,” Terry says.

Jason grips onto Terry’s shirt and watches his stupid future cartoons. Which aren’t bad, actually. He feels—not relaxed, but not about to lose it, either. Terry can probably handle any of Jason’s blow-ups, and Jason can certainly take care of Terry, at least in the ways he knows. If he has the feeling he’s missing something, the worse thing underneath all this bad stuff, he doesn’t let it reach this conscious thoughts. Not yet. Not now.

Terry falls asleep first, when Jason isn’t looking, pink in his cheeks, getting another crick in his neck.


	9. we love a lot (so we only lose a little)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD, mental health, relationships are complicated

Jason wakes up to Terry curled against him like a cat. He reminds himself that Terry is an adult and Jason is _not_ an advantage-taking creep. Or a relationship ruiner. He glares at the computer, which is _still_ playing cartoons. That explains Jason’s weird dreams. He really wants to pat Terry, but that might be strange, so he decides to get up instead.

When he moves, Terry rolls over and upright in a single motion before ever opening his eyes. He opens them one at a time, sees Jason, and says, “That was way better sleep than I expected.” He looks over at his computer and then leans to slap it shut. “Calling Dick?” he asks.

“Okay, Mr. Morning Person,” Jason says. “Let’s. How do we do that? I used that weirdo payphone before, but I don’t know how you do it normally.” 

“I’m used to a later bedtime,” Terry explains. “My internal clock is off.” He grabs his phone off the bedside table and finds Dick. “Did you just get up?” Jason’s hair is standing up in front and his face still has creases in it from the blankets. Or from Terry’s shirt. Terry decides not to worry over the details.

“Nope, being lying here watching you sleep since five,” Jason lies. “Can I call? Can you show me?” He’s seen all of them using phones, but they’re not much like what Jason’s used to. Since it looks like he’s going to be sticking around in this alarming future, he might as well figure out how everything works. He’s not used to being behind the curve.

“Here,” Terry says, handing him the phone. “You can touch it? It’ll respond like buttons. Just hit Dick’s name and then the green thing. Or you can do it all by voice, but they haven’t got that to work right and they’ve been trying for decades. It always thinks I’m asking to delete my contact list or get directions to small towns in Canada.”

Jason laughs. “Great. Technology always sucks. Okay, let’s see.” He plays with it, trying not to show how cool he thinks it is. “Got it. Dick. Here we go.” He taps Dick’s name with his forefinger and makes the call.

Dick picks up after a few rings. “Terry?” he says gruffly. Dick is _not_ a morning person.

“Sorry, no,” Jason says. “It’s me. Jay. I don’t even know what time it is, but don’t worry, everything’s _fine_.” He sounds so convincing.

“Here I begin to worry,” Dick says. Terry is making a face at Jason that is probably mockery, which reminds Jason that Terry may be older than him, but he’s also a total kid. Dick says, “What can I do for you? And the time, by the way, is two past seven in the morning.”

“Oh, _seven,_ ” Jason says unhappily. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. So listen, last night the Joker attacked me. Want to put money on if that’s gonna keep happening and to how many people, if we don’t finally fucking do something about it?” Jason is probably the wrong person to make calls like this. He doesn’t do subtle.

Dick makes a noise, the grumpy old guy version of the noise he used to make to mean, _Let me at ‘em, I wish I used more swear words._

“Were you out on your own?” he asks. 

“Kind of.” Jason glances self-consciously at Terry. “I followed Terry on patrol. I stuck pretty close to him. Good thing, or I’d probably be dead.” _It was my fault_ sticks in his mouth.

Dick sniffs. “Is Terry there?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “We fell asleep watching cartoons.”

“Well, tell Terry he’s a good kid for bringing you home in one piece,” Dick says. “And if you need to check in _off_ the party line, tell him to go away. Tell him I want to catch up with you in private.”

“Definitely,” Jason says. “Hey, Terry, Dick says you’re a goddamned American hero. Can I maybe take a walk with this thing?” he waves the phone. “Just down the hall or something.”

“Yeah,” Terry says. “Basically anywhere, actually, as long as I get it back eventually. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Thanks.” Jason heads into the hall, glancing around for Bruce. “Okay, Terry’s gone,” he says to Dick. “He is _so_ not doing okay.”

“No?” Dick says. “Talk to me, Jay.”

“He was way, way too cool about the Joker showing up last night,” Jason says. “He didn’t bat an eyelash. But he practically had a nervous breakdown when I--Okay, so he and Bruce broke up.”

“When you, okay, so, he and Bruce,” Dick repeats. “I see we’ve learned a lot about meddling in the last few days.”

“It wasn’t all me!” Jason protests. “Bruce wanted to. You know he always _wants_ to. Because it’s wrong, sleeping with a bunch of underage boys or whatever? I guess I gave him the push. But, I think it’s okay, though.”

“You said Terry almost had a nervous breakdown,” Dick reminds him. “But never mind that. Tell me about the Joker. Are _you_ all right?”

“Not exactly,” Jason says, because it seems unfair to lie in this conversation. “I feel like shit and I think when I remember all of what happened together I’m going to have a little meltdown. But Terry wasn’t like that. He didn’t flinch. He just swooped in and saved me. That’s not normal, right?”

“Hard to say what _normal_ is, in this situation,” Dick says. “But yes, I would say that’s a little odd. Nothing afterwards? He stayed calm?”

“Like a cat,” Jason says. “A cool cat.”

“Hm. If nothing else, it’s probably worth keeping an eye on him. Terry is easy to underestimate and overestimate in all the wrong places.” 

“I’d be his Robin if he wanted,” Jason says, because that is kind of a thing about Terry, and it makes Jason’s knees weak.

“Oh yeah?” Dick says. 

“Yeah,” Jason says. “And he knows it.” He scratches at his wrist. “I don’t think I’d want to be Bruce’s Robin again, but it’d be different, with Terry. Different kind of partners.”

“Really!” Dick says. “I mean, no, obviously it would be different. I’m just surprised that you’re interested. You’d better be taking care of yourself, Jay. You haven’t had very long to adjust.”

“I think I am?,” Jason says. “It’s kind of confusing. Look, I’m not the kind of guy who can just sit around and wait for stuff. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s fine. Terry makes me dinner and watches movies with me and _talks_ to me and--I don’t know, I’ve never had that, y’know? Don’t make pity noises.” Truthfully, Jason is talking shit more than anything else. He doesn’t know how he’d even respond to having a stable boyfriend. At least Terry is too old for him. That gives Jason _something_ to bridge the gap between healthy and his kind of normal.  
Dick laughs. “How long did it take for you to get it bad?” he asks. 

“Well, the first night I tried to kill him. But after that...” Jason grins. “I bet he’s a total mama’s boy, right? But I’m too damn charming for her to say no, right? Just wait for me to meet her.”

There’s a slight pause, and Dick says, “I’m surprised you’re so optimistic.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Jason says, almost offended for real.

“I mean about Terry’s family,” Dick says. 

“What?” Jason says. “Oh, no. I mean, we gotta find the Joker sometime, right? He’ll pop up. And even Bruce wants to kill him, now. So, we kill the Joker, and Terry’s family comes out of hiding, and everything’s great. Right?”

“Oh,” Dick says. “No. They’re not hiding, Jay. He’s _got_ them.”

The first flash of terror isn’t about them at all. It’s not about Terry or his mom or what happened Tim. It’s all about Jason. It’s every moment when Jason thinks, _I’m going to get away,_ and then the Joker closes on him like a steel trap.

“What?” Jason says. “What? But—Terry got hurt more than a month ago. How—why aren’t they trying to _find_ him? It was more than a _month_ ago.”

“Because things take time and the Joker is smart,” Dick says. “Sorry. I thought you knew that.”

“No,” Jason says. “No, I should’ve, I just—I guess I just wanted to believe it wasn’t the worst.”

“Understandable,” Dick says. “But. That’s why I’m suspicious about perfect Terry, you see? Because things are very far from perfect.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jason says, trying hard to sound normal. “So, hey, we’re going to do something, right? Could you talk to Tim and the girl one about maybe helping with this Joker plan?” 

“The girl one,” Dick repeats, and Jason can practically see him shaking his head. “All right. I’ll wake ‘em up and feed ‘em waffles and so forth and see what it comes to. Might take more than one try. I haven’t extacly told them you’re—here. And I think I’d have heard about it by now if Barbara spilled the beans.”

“Waffles,” Jason says slowly. “You--uh, do you _live_ with them, Dick?”

“Well, it’s a funny story,” Dick says. “Well--no, it’s not, actually. After Tim’s episode a few years ago, we started talking again, and he was married to Steph--well. Yes. The rent is cheaper, you know.”

“Are you _fucking?_ ” Jason yells.

“Jay!” Dick says, sounding like his good old, familiar, wounded, prudish, sleeps-with-everyone self. “It’s a committed relationship. You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Weird as fuck,” Jason says, shaking his head. “I never thought you were a committed relationship kind of a guy, no offense.”

“Well I got around it the best I could, didn’t I?” Dick says. “At least I’m the only one of us who isn’t married.”

“You’re perfect,” Jason says with feeling. “Seriously, my hero. How’d you get so cool? Okay, I should go make Bruce and Terry a terrible breakfast.” He’s really into this cooking thing now.

“Sure, kid,” Dick says. “Remind Terry to call me later. And you watch him.”

“Trust me, I do. Later, Grayson.” Jason has an embarrassing moment where he can’t figure out how to hang up the phone, but he gets there.

Dick hangs up and blows out a slow breath. _You’re perfect_ is still singing in his ears and it makes his heart hurt. The last thing he wants to do is wake Tim up with the words _Jason Todd._ Tim’s been sad and skittish enough since the Joker reappeared, without anything else about how the world works changing and shifting around and throwing everything off.

~

But one of the consequences of the Joker coming back is that Tim hasn’t been sleeping well lately. He comes into the room just as Dick’s hanging up, still in his pajamas. There are dark circles under his eyes.

“Who was that?” he asks.

Dick winces. “You always catch me,” he says. “I was just coming to talk to you. Although I’d thought maybe I’d do it with waffles.”

“Waffles,” Tim says, forcing his voice flat and toneless. That’s usually safe. “Not feeling hungry now, thanks.”

“I know,” Dick says. “They weren’t a great idea.” He swallows. “It was Jay.”

Tim is perfectly blank. 

“Who?” he asks. Maybe he’ll go back to bed. Maybe he’ll go make the waffles himself. Maybe he’ll go for a run later.

“Jason Todd,” Dick says bravely, though not quite bravely enough. “Your predecessor. Robin. He’s alive, now.”

“I don’t know--” Tim starts, but he doesn’t want to sound _crazy_ and besides, he does know who Dick is talking about. “How? How did that happen?” It happens these days, he guesses. But Jason, of all people? Jason, the Dead One?

“I don’t know either,” Dick says. “Nobody knows. Jay doesn’t know. They’re trying to figure out where he came from. He--well, he looks like Jay. Sounds like him. Same old kid. If it’s not him, I couldn’t tell the difference. Terry ran into him on patrol.”

Tim opens his mouth, clamps it shut tight, and tries again. He didn’t even know Terry was on the street again. “So--That’s good. That’s good, isn’t it.”

“Timmy,” Dick says. “It’s okay.”  
Tim has given up yelling at Dick for calling him Timmy. Apparently he’s never too old to find it comforting. “Is it okay?” he asks. “Is _he_ okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dick says. “I mean, I think he’ll be fine. But I meant--it’s okay for you to feel something. You’re okay _by me.”_

Tim is always okay by Dick, which doesn’t make it less reassuring when Dick reminds him. “I think I’m just a little shaken up,” Tim says. “But it’s fine. Surprising. But it won’t mean anything for us. That’s all Terry’s problem now.”

Dick clears his throat. “I may have--spoken to Bruce,” he says, and Tim feels his skin prickle. “Before. Loudly. About the Joker. I may—I said I would help take Joker down.” Dick half looks away when he adds, “The kids can’t handle him alone.”

“What,” Tim says. Toneless, toneless, come on. “I--no, they can’t, but I’m not putting you out there, too.” He realizes he sounds like Bruce. He doesn’t care.

“You’re not putting me anywhere,” Dick says, raising his eyebrows.

“I swear,” Tim says, “if I lose you to him, Dick, I’ll _destroy_ something. He already ruined my life, murdered Jason—” He doesn’t even want to ask how Terry’s really doing. “He’s hurt you before. I won’t lose you, too.”

Dick clasps his hand against Tim’s jaw and neck. “Oh, now. We can make them safe,” he says. “We can make this stop.”

Tim shudders and closes his eyes. “I, I killed him once. He came back. There isn’t--there isn’t a way out. No guarantee.” The nagging thought rises up again, though, that maybe if someone else does it, it will work.

“We’ll find out how it happened,” Dick says. “We’ll make it impossible. And we’ll kill him. That’s how we’ll fix it.” That first thought thought feels like a little bit of inspiration. The Joker and Jason must have come from somewhere. The only way it can really hurt to know is if Jay isn’t real. Or permanent.

Tim stares at him. “You’re perfect,” he says.

“I’m tired of this crap,” Dick tells him, instead of _That’s what Jay said._

“That’s why,” Tim says. He smiles, exhausted, even though he just woke up. It’s going to be one of the bad days. “I don’t know what I can do to help. You know I want him gone. But I’m not sure how much I can--” Handle. Come on. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

“I’m not asking you to go back in the field,” Dick says. “I wouldn’t, Tim.”

Tim nods, even though he doesn’t entirely believe that. “Good. Have you told Steph any of this?”

“No,” Dick says. “Not yet.”

Tim almost asks him not to. Steph will want to jump right back in. “Going to?” he asks.

“Got to,” Dick says. “Damian.”

Tim grimaces. “I just want them out of the way of all this. Which they should be.”

“Cass would be, if it was just her. But you know Damian runs off,” Dick says. “Maybe he’s at school now, but a week from now? He might be on a bus back here. And if he runs, Cass will follow him. And if they see me sneaking around, they’ll investigate. Because they want to keep you and Steph safe.”

Tim’s mind goes blank with horror. He can’t comprehend their children, their _babies_ , being in the danger that almost made Tim refuse to have kids. “Can’t have that,” he says. “Heh.”

“I _know_ ,” Dick says. He frowns. “We’d be in this whether we chose to be or not, but at least if we choose we have the chance to get it right.”

 _Help me,_ Tim wants to say. _I’m so afraid I’ll start laughing._ “Mm,” he says, mouth closed.

Dick looks at him closely. “I was thinking. You want out of this, we have to keep the kids out. You could take them on a trip. We can tell the school _something_. It can be a dad thing, you know, quality time without the old creep who’s screwing everything up.” Dick makes an apologetic face at his description of himself, but Tim smiles, and the smile feels all right. 

“I’ll talk to them about being nice to you,” he says. “Again. And I might take you up on that trip idea. Once we talk to Steph.”

“Naturally,” says Dick. “Tim. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“You probably thought I’d lose it,” Tim says ruefully.

“I didn’t want to make you sad,” Dick says. “Is that too sappy? I know, it’s not productive. I’m sorry. I worried. I worry.”

“It’s sweet,” Tim says. “I resent the fact that it’s necessary, but I don’t resent _you_. That make sense?”

“Yes,” Dick says. It’s never easy, negotiating the space between what Tim needs to hear and what he can’t hear. The lines change, and nobody can always predict it, and whether they protect Tim or don’t, on a bad day, either one can feel like a betrayal.

Pushing this is important, even though he can see it stressing the edges of Tim’s self-control. Dick has to talk about Damian and Cass, because Cassie is fearless and Damian is destructive, and they’re _kids._ It would be so much easier to say, _They’re safe, it’s fine,_ but they’re not safe, and Tim doesn’t really want to ignore that. 

And Dick has to help the kids that aren’t theirs, because _all_ of them are Dick’s, to some degree or another. Bruce tries to keep them apart, sometimes, but they’re all a family. And Dick’s the oldest.

“This is going to be really hard, isn’t it?” Tim asks. “The next few weeks, or months, or whatever.”

“Yes,” Dick says firmly. “But we’re going to do it.”

Tim clears his throat and frowns and the carpet. “How’s Terry?” he asks. He’s always avoided Terry, since their first terrible interactions. He hasn’t even asked after him since the Joker attacked, just nodded when Dick or Steph have given him the necessary updates. Terry’s in the hospital, Terry’s awake, Terry’s home, Terry’s—well, there are several obvious answers to why no one told him Terry was suiting up again. He should have asked.

“Weird,” Dick says. “That’s why Jason called, actually. Jay says he’s been a little on edge, but not as on edge as he _should_ be. And—okay.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Everyone’s all right, but there was an attack last night. Terry was on patrol and Jason followed him, and—the Joker attacked him.”

Tim nods, because—showing a response is important. As Dick is demonstrating even now. Tim relearned all that years ago, and he shouldn’t still forget it when he panics.

“They’re all right,” Dick repeats. “But Jason says that Terry didn’t—react. He got Jay out of there, cool as a cucumber, and then acted like it was nothing.”

“Ah,” says Tim. He can’t think. Can’t _think._

“ _Sorry_ ,” Dick says. He assesses, and then pulls Tim into a fierce, quiet hug, his face buried against Tim’s necks. “It’ll be all right, Timmy, I swear it will. We’re figuring it out. We’ll be safe. He’s not going to get us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim says, numb. “You can say that all you want. Bruce used to say it, and it’s never true. He can do whatever he wants to us and never pay. It’s going to keep happening over and over and over. Jason should have stayed dead.” He wants to play along, to tell Dick he believes him, trusts him, but it’s impossible.

Dick puts his fingers in Tim’s hair and thinks hard.

“We’re not Bruce,” he says finally. “There are more of us. And we don’t hesitate.”

That, Tim does believe. He smiles, but this smile _is_ wrong, and he tries to hide it before Dick sees. “Y-yeah,” he says through his teeth.

“You’re not the trigger finger this time around,” Dick tells him. “Scrap that.”

If they do, Tim thinks, who does that leave? He isn’t sure Terry would kill anyone. Dick might. Jason—he would. Tim is sure Jason would kill the Joker. “Okay,” he says carefully. “We can—make that work.”

Tim doesn’t feel, in Dick’s arms, like he’s making it work. Dick’s subconscious always accuses him, in that moment. _You weren’t there,_ it says. _And now it’s like this and you can’t help._ He can, though. He ignores the feeling.

Tim tries to squash down the panic as it wells up. (No, not panic, something worse, but Tim can pretend.) “Help,” he manages. That’s not right. “Uh. Can we wake Steph up?” He can’t stop there. He’s not saying enough. “Strength in numbers.”

“Yes,” Dick says. “Let’s get Steph. I can run and get her? All right?”

Tim wants to scream _Don’t leave me_ , but he’s stuck. Every inch of him is focused on _not laughing_. It’s humiliating.

“No,” Dick says. “Wait. Sorry. That’s stupid. Come on.” He grabs Tim’s hand and drags him down the hall, and says, “Steph, wake up! We need you!”

Steph rolls over, gasping awake. It’s not the first time she’s woken up this way, but it hasn’t happened in a while. “Talk to me,” she says, already on her feet. Dick looks slightly stricken. Tim is standing still next to him, jaw tight and teeth clenched.

“He caught me on the phone,” Dick says. “With—”

“Jason Todd,” Tim grates out, and then looks sick.

“Joker attacked them last night and I said I’d help,” Dick throws in.

“What the hell?” Steph says. “What the _hell?_ Dick, you and I are going to _talk.”_

“Uh,” says Dick.

“Timmy,” Steph says, borrowing Dick’s pet name. Tim heaves out a lungful of air.

“No,” he says tightly.

“Strength in numbers, buddy,” Dick says, squeezing his hand. Tim forces himself to meet Dick’s eyes. A little guilty, a lot worried, solid and steady just the same.

“You look worse than I do,” Tim says with effort. Dick smiles, and Steph relaxes.

“I do not,” Dick says. “What do you need?”

Tim is bad at asking, because his needs are so specific now. He looks at Steph.

“Well, don’t stand in the doorway,” she says. She detaches Tim from Dick, takes his face in her hands, and says, “Hey, pal. Here and now.”

Tim scoffs, incredulous at his own neediness, so brimful of panic that he can barely see straight.

“Come here,” Steph says. Her eyes are so bright, and he knows all the lines in them, and the exact change in shade between her young yellow hair and the white that’s executing a subtle takeover. It was so shocking, with Dick, from black to silver in a year or two. Steph’s hair is like an inside joke, which Tim likes, because he gets it.

Steph moves her grip down hand over hand, until she pulls him by his waist back to their bed and, in one move, rolls them into it. “Come on, Dick,” she says easily, smiling at Tim and running her hands over him soothingly. Dick obeys, and climbs directly into a bear hug. 

“Listen, Tim,” Steph says. “I’m handling this. No little punk is going to mess everything up. Family first.” She glances warningly at Dick, and he bites his lip against anything he’d like to say, apologize or defend Jason or point out that he couldn’t have hidden this forever and there is no good way to break this kind of news.

After a long moment of silence, Tim sighs and his arms loosen around Steph’s waist. “I’m good,” he says quietly. “Thanks. Sorry. God.” He reaches back to squeeze Dick’s wrist, leans up to kiss Steph’s cheek. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dick says. Tim rolls onto his back between them.

“It’s the Joker’s fault,” Steph says. She’s never one to mince words. “All right. So Jason Todd is back, _and_ the Joker’s not staying hidden.” She snuggles down. “If you don’t want to be involved in whatever comes next, Tim, it’s fine. But I don’t want you or the kids or Terry or _anyone_ scared anymore. I want a piece.”

“And Dick,” Tim says.

“Me?” Dick says.

“You want a piece,” Tim says. “You’re committed.” His voice goes tight.

“You want to talk about this now?” Steph asks Tim. She checks a lot, but it never feels condescending; it’s part of the system. It’s how they work right, altogether.

Tim bites his lip. “Not really,” he says. “Sorry. I know you two feel like you need to do something about the Joker, but I don’t think I can be part of it. And I don’t really want to deal with it. Today, at least.” 

“No one wants to force you into that,” Dick says. “It’s not--You got _hurt_. You don’t have to chase after more of the same thing.”

“Terry’s chasing it, apparently,” Tim says. “You can bet Jason wants to, as well.” He rubs his face. “I’m just not as good as Bruce needed me to be. I’m too sane.” It’s a joke, because of this, but it’s true.

“But Terry isn’t chasing down the past,” Dick says. “They still have his family.” Harley Quinn, he thinks, could be doing exactly to them what they did to Tim. He bites his lip, too late.

Tim shudders. “I--Just for that, I’ve thought about coming out of retirement to help. I’m not fit for it, but if you two need to dig into this more, I won’t try to stop you.”

“You couldn’t stop _me_ ,” Steph says. “Okay. I want Dick to catch me up, but maybe privately, and after breakfast.”

Tim nods, grateful, and Dick lets go and rolls out of bed.

“Who wants to see if I can manage breakfast without causing any catastrophes?” Dick says. He turns his phone off to avoid tempting fate.

Tim grabs his hand. “Hey. Sorry I’m so much work.” He knows he’s complicated to deal with, all his hidden triggers and landmines. He doesn’t want to be the person who can ruin everyone’s day if you touch him wrong.

“You don’t need to be hard work for me to cause catastrophes,” Dick says, and kisses Tim on the top of the head. Tim grabs him for a kiss back, then taps Steph’s arm and climbs out of bed. “All right,” he says, waving them up. “Let’s do waffles.”


	10. find yourself a new gig

“We have to help the kids take out the Joker,” Steph says. No question there. Her moral qualms get left behind when people get hurt. “I know you don’t want to upset Tim, but he’s going to feel a hell of a lot worse than upset when someone gets killed. We’ll have to be really careful, though.” With the shit deal Bruce cut, there's no choice; all the legwork is _supposed_ to be up to the cops, and Steph doesn't think the Joker meant Dick.

“Careful,” Dick agrees. His features pinch. “He’s so young, Steph. I mean, I know people are young, we were young, Terry is young, but Jay is—Well, okay, I’m old. I remember that kid, and he hasn’t really changed. He’s _still a kid_ , whatever he says about it.”

“He’s got to be a mess,” Steph says. “Being murdered and waking up alive? I know I would be. And let’s face it, Bruce’s lifelong hobby might be taking care of kids in trouble, but he’s _shitty_ at it. I’m surprised he didn’t kick Jason out as soon as he came back.”

Dick hesitates. “Jay wasn’t like me or Tim,” he says. _To Bruce,_ he means. “But if he’s staying put and keeping it together, I think that’ll be Terry’s doing.”

“Terry really deserves a little backup,” Steph says. “I don’t know how he puts up with it. Bruce is such an asshole.” Steph was never Robin, but as a crimefighter in Gotham, she had her fair share of unpleasant run-ins with Bruce.

“Putting up with a little less now, it turns out,” Dick says. “Jay said Bruce dumped him. Not on the _street_ , thank god, but it sounds like he’s either an even bigger coward than I thought or he’s finally developing a conscience.”

Steph doesn’t want to have a conversation about Bruce and his relationships. She never manages to get on the right side of that one. “Is Terry okay?”

“Right. That’s why Jay called,” Dick says. “Jay told me Terry’s been bleeding at the edges since Jay got back. But after the Joker attacked last night, he acted like everything was a-okay. Steph, the last time someone was supposed to have seen the Joker was six weeks ago. The last time Terry saw him, his family was abducted and _he_ was nearly killed. So the Joker shows up, and he’s here cool as a cucumber? He’s hiding something.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Steph decides. “He won’t think I’m trying to figure him out like some concerned uncle. I may get somewhere. Besides, maybe what he needs is a mom person.” Hah. The mom part is still weird.

Dick shrugs. “You might find him a hard nut to crack, no matter how much of a soft touch you are.”

“It really should be Tim,” Steph says. “He’s _been_ there. But I think he’s right. It’s too hard for him.” It’s good that Tim knows when to back down and call off things he can’t handle, but Steph wishes he could find a way to help that would make him feel better, too.

“Oh, we’ve _all_ been there,” Dick says. “I almost think Tim’s right. The only thing we can do for each other is prove it never stops.” He laughs. “Except maybe when Bruce dies. Maybe then Joker’ll get bored.”

“And then what?” Steph says. “It’s just harder this time because we thought he was gone. Really gone.” Ever since it turned out he wasn’t, Tim’s been a mess. “Maybe there’s no point in killing him again, if he’ll just come back.”

Dick clenches his jaw and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have any ideas, at the moment, just an increasing level of worry about everyone around him.

“So,” Steph says, forcing a smile, “we just find out what brought him back and work from there. Right?” There are a couple of holes in that plan, one of them being that taking back whatever brought the Joker here could kill Jason, too. Assuming it’s that kind of thing. Assuming it’s the _same_ thing. There’s a lot they don’t know.

“Sorry,” Dick says. “Yes. That’s exactly it. I’m going to take a walk, get some morning air while it’s still morning.”

“Good plan,” Steph says. “I’ll just...do my thing.” Her thing will be checking on Tim, and then it’ll be getting ready to solve some mysteries. She hasn’t done that kind of thing in a while (at least not in a superhero context), but she thinks it’ll be remarkably easy to fall back into.

“ _Okay,”_ Dick says, determined. “Back in a bit.”

~

Terry has decided that _withdraw from college_ means _instantly._ He’s supposed to have a class today, but instead he’s dug out a bowling set from one of the attics and set it up in the ballroom (the actual bowling alley is a huge mess, and he doesn’t feel like tackling that just now). So far he’s learned that he’s really bad at bowling, but it’s a nice way to spend an afternoon where you don’t want to think about anything real.

Jason, already getting cabin fever again, only waits about half the afternoon before tracking Terry down. He’s spent most of the morning playing fetch with Ace, and Ace sucks at fetch.

“Three guesses how I found you,” Jason says, sticking his head into the room. “Bowling is _loud_.”

Terry watches his ball meander away and bump into a wall, where it leaves a little dent in the wallpaper.

“Hey, Jay,” he says. “You can join in, if you want.”

“That’s cool, I’ll watch.” Jason leans against the wall. “This is pretty much what I used to do if I was ever in an actual bowling alley. How’s stuff?”

“Well, I’m getting pretty good at throwing this ball at everything but the pins,” Terry say, retrieving it. “How was Robin Number One, earlier?”

“He loves being called that,” Jason says. “Jeez. He was okay. He said he’d talk his, uh, family about helping us out. You didn’t tell me Dick was such a player these days.”

“Whoops,” Terry says. “I might have been a little distracted. Don’t worry, I’d never call him Robin to his face.”

“I don’t know why it upsets him so much,” Jason says. “I love it. Uh, speaking of that.” This is probably a bad time. There is probably not a good time.

“Speaking of?” Terry asks, in his cool-and-kind-of-sarcastic voice, which makes it really hard to tell if he’s about to laugh in your face or if he just doesn’t know how to talk in another way.

“You’re a Batman without a Robin,” Jason says. “Which is kind of shitty and sad for you, when you think about it. Someone should have your back. And I never quit! I wouldn’t have quit! Basically, do you want a Robin?” It was about this awkward when he asked Bruce, too.

Terry bowls, badly, and the ball bounces against the hardwood before rolling off to the right at an ambitious angle. When he turns around, Jason is looking at him for an answer, and he has to say something.

“Are you...serious?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m serious!” Jason says. Not a great start, he thinks, but whatever. 

“Then--I don’t think so. No. Under the circumstances, that sounds like kind of a terrible idea,” he says evenly.

“Why?” Jason demands. “I won’t freak out again. And don’t tell me you work alone, because you work with Bruce.”

“Not in the field,” Terry says, waving his hand. “That’s totally different. You said so yourself. I don’t know how to handle a partner in the field.” 

“I’ll teach you, dumbass.” Jason doesn’t know why he’s pushing, except that he needs it. And he _thinks_ Terry does. It’s hard to tell what Terry needs, besides a friend. It’s hard to tell what Terry’s thinking.

“I’m not the best student,” Terry points out, chasing the ball down and looking for craters in the floorboards. “Anyway, Bruce would freak. Joker could’ve killed you last night, you think he’d be happy if I took you out _every_ night? That’s kind of asking for it.”

“Oh yeah,” Jason says. His face feels hot. “Yeah, guys like us, in our cute little shorts, we’re always asking for it. If we get bludgeoned to death, well, shouldn’t have been on the streets. I don’t give a fuck about what Bruce wants. Why don’t _you_ want me out there?”

“It’s too fast,” Terry says, hefting the ball up and practically hurling it down the room. Five pins go over. He rubs his hands together. “Don’t you think it might be better to catch your breath a little? You’re probably still in _shock_.”

“One of us is,” Jason shoots back. “Listen, you take care of you. I’ve got me covered.”

“We don’t even know if you _are_ you,” Terry says, quickly and reasonably.

“Oh,” Jason says, and Terry looks up at his face. 

“I--just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” Terry says. “We don’t know enough about anything. I really only know how to go it alone.” He takes a couple steps like he’s going after the ball again, but he ends up pivoting back toward Jason instead, looking as closed-off and concerned as Bruce ever did.

“Great!” Jason says, and now he’s pissed. “Well, I’m glad we’ve covered _your_ needs. What about mine?”

“What exactly _do_ you need, Jay?” Terry asks. There’s an edge to his voice. “To play hero until it gets you killed a second time? To get in bed with someone A-SAP? If I ever _wanted_ a sidekick, that’s not what I’d be looking for.”

“Motherfucker,” Jason snarls. He means Terry, himself, the world. He lunges for Terry and grabs his wrist, not sure what he’s out to prove. But Terry pulls him forward on his own momentum, and the next second, Jason finds himself flat on the floor with Terry’s knee in his back.

“Fuck,” Jason gasps. “What the _hell?”_

“You tell me I’m Batman and go for me and then you’re surprised when you end up on the floor?” Terry asks, but he sounds a little calmer, and he eases up. In different circumstances, Jason would find this unbearably attractive. As it is...

“You’re wound a little tight,” he says, wincing.

“Not usually.” Terry gets up and offers Jason a hand. “Sorry. You’re--sorry. You’re totally right. I was just--in my head a little. I didn’t mean--I didn’t mean the mean parts.”

Jason takes his hand and gets up, deciding not to be unhappy, at least where Terry can see. Which shouldn’t be hard, since Terry’s looking right past him. “S’okay. I get that a lot. We good?”

“Yeah,” says Terry. “We’re good.” 

He looks younger than Jason for a second. Jason says, “Hey. How about a hug? So far I haven’t messed one of those up.”

“One of your needs?” Terry says sheepishly.

Jason smiles. Oh yeah. Terry is an okay guy. “Don’t tell.”

“Secret’s safe,” says Terry. Then he stands there, instead of actually going for it.

“Hugging now,” Jason warns, in case he gets flipped again. He slowly puts himself in Terry’s space and hugs him around the waist.

“More hug than I expected, even,” Terry says awkwardly, although he does return the favor.

“I’ve been told I come on strong,” Jason says. Not really a joke. “Sorry about the Robin thing.” He still wants it, but he is sorry he freaked Terry out.

“It’s okay,” Terry says. “It’s just, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, there’s a lot going on.”

Jason wants to say that he and Bruce didn’t know each other, either, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Sorry,” he says instead. It doesn’t feel natural.

“Ahh,” Terry says. “I feel like I’m freaking out on you every five minutes. Hand to God I’m not usually so hard to make friends with. Well. Except with criminals.”

“I’ll bet you even make friends with criminals,” Jason says. “Hopefully petty thieves, at least, although I think I’m moving past that stage in my life.”

“Tires,” says Terry. “I remember. Well, now you know. If you suffer a relapse you can call me, and I’ll be happy to throw you to the ground and tell Barbara Gordon on you.”

“Yup!” Jason says, too loudly. Never mind that he could and would top the hell out of Terry, given the chance, Batman telling him he’s gonna get thrown around is hardwired as _hot_ in his head.

Terry pauses. “--What, you’re gonna relapse? Or--?”

“Uh, nothing, I wasn’t listening to myself,” Jason says. “Man, remember how much being sixteen _sucks_? It sucks. Anyway, want help bowling?”

Terry smiles at him, a little bit awkward. “Yeah,” he says.

“I’m the worst,” Jason informs him. “I’d sometimes hang out at bowling alleys at smoke, but that’s about it. Hey, so what’s Dick’s girl-partner like?”

“Girl-partner,” Terry repeats. “Steph? I don’t know her that well. We’ve only met a few times. Never really talked. Ex-crime fighter, and a badass mom.”

Jason shakes his head. “Wow. The adults run around having all the fun and we’re stuck here with Bruce. Except I guess you’re an adult.” He keeps forgetting.

“If you say so,” Terry says. He hands Jason the ball and goes to set up the fallen pins.

“I’m gonna help the shit out of you,” Jason mutters. Somehow. It’s not really his strong suit.

Terry sets up the last pin and gets out of the way. “Okay, Robin Number Two,” he says. “Show me what you’ve got.”


	11. let's get you wasted and alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: violence

The first order of business, they’ve decided, is to figure out what Terry is hiding. The place where they don’t agree, though, is that Steph doesn’t believe for a second that Terry will just _tell her_ what she wants to know.

She doesn’t have her old costume anymore, so she just wears all black with a brand new domino mask to cover her eyes. She really, really hopes Bruce doesn’t catch her in Gotham. He’s still territorial, and he’s always been a killjoy. 

She hangs out around the grounds of Wayne Manor, near the Batmobile’s exit. Terry leaves, and Steph follows. She’s always been good at shadowing bats; it’s frequently the only way to get in on the action in Gotham.

Terry heads towards the city, but takes the last possible ramp away from town, toward the port. Steph almost misses him making the turnoff. It gets harder to stay out of sight, as the landscape changes.

Terry drops the car in a grungy area by the waterfront, a mixture of storage units, seedy businesses, and warehouses. It’s probably a great place to find crime, but it’s unusual for Batman (any Batman) to go out looking for it this way. Unless they already know what they’re looking for.

Steph’s glad to be on foot; it’s a hell of a lot easier for her to follow like this, and it means that wherever they’re going, it’s close.

Terry takes a few turns through the labyrinth of cheap, squat structures, and stops when he reaches what looks like the office of one of the storage places, gated and locked and dark inside. Steph, from above, watches him break in. Terry rifles through drawers and piles of paper until he comes up with something small and flat and rectangular--probably a key--and then creeps back outside. 

Steph follows him down three rows of units before he leans in, squints at the number, and swipes the card. He doesn’t have a flashlight--must be part of the new gear not to need one--but Steph wishes he did. She can’t see inside when Terry rolls the door up. 

But maybe she only needs to see Terry. He looks inside, and his shoulders slump.

Steph bites her lip. Whatever Terry’s looking for--three guesses what that is--he’s not finding it. She doesn't think this is the first time he’s gone looking. _Poor kid_. They don’t have to be friends for her to sympathize.

Terry takes a step into the unit, looking uncertain even in the mask. And someone else steps around the corner.

“Aww, too bad,” the Joker asks.

Steph takes a sharp breath.

“But there’ll be other chances!” the Joker says. “You’re still keeping a lid on it, right, kid?”

Terry tenses, but he doesn’t flinch or step back. “What do you think? You’d know.” He sounds tired, and angry. Not surprised, though.

_Terry’s not surprised to see him_ , Steph thinks. _Jason was right._

“It’s true,” the Joker says. “I _would._ So maybe it’s less a question and more a congratulations. One more day for you! Although if you keep spending your days like this, Terry boy, it won’t matter how long you play. Poor dear mommy will die of old age.”

Terry clenches his fists. “Are you just here to say the same crap over and over? Doesn’t that get boring for you?”

“Sweet of you to look out for me,” purrs the Joker. “The sad truth, Terry my boy, is that lately, I have not had much to do with my time. And tormenting you might be old, but it hasn’t stopped being _fun._ ”

“It might,” Terry says. “Seriously, haven’t we been doing this long enough? Sure you’re not interested in cutting a new deal?”

“Oh, sure,” Joker says, leaning in until Terry has to take a step backwards. It puts him against a wall. He shouldn’t be letting the Joker box him in. “What are you offering? Let’s hope it’s a fun game--let’s hope you’re not thinking of offering _yourself._ In--any way. Because frankly, bat boy, you’re not quite up my alley.”

“Yeah, and is--” But whatever Terry was going to say, he cuts himself off. “Forget it. I think we both know you don’t want anything I’m willing to give. Speaking of which? You can back off Jason.”

“Can I?” the Joker asks, smiling widely. “I can still feel him, you know, wriggling in my grasp. I can smell his blood on my hands. He fought and cried _so_ valiantly. Is that what you’re going to do when I kill you?”

Steph clamps her jaw tight. She really wants to get in there and beat the shit out of the Joker. She’s not sure how long she can stop herself, either. She’s not even a part of this game—for a second she thinks, maybe she can get away with it.

“No,” Terry says. His voice is hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “You’re done with him. You’re playing with me now. You don’t want too many balls in the air, do you? You might slip up.”

Steph can see how tense Terry’s whole body is. His attitude isn’t fooling anybody.

The Joker laughs. “The only time I ever slipped up was with Tiny Tim. And in the end I won that game, didn’t I? _You_ are going to slip up, _Batman._ You’re good at keeping secrets, but you can’t keep this one, and the moment any one of your cape-wearing friends knows about it—even just one smidgeon of a cop—tick tock, boom, goodbye, McGinnises.”

Terry makes a strangled noise. “ _Not going to happen,”_ he says.

Steph is furious, her old staff in her hand, ready to knock the Joker as unconscious as possible. But, she realizes, she can’t. Because the Joker will count it as exactly the kind of interference that isn’t allowed.

“So brave!” the Joker says. “Do you want to hear a message from little brother? Bravery deserves a reward.”

Terry swings a fist. The Joker says, “Oof!” and hits the ground laughing. “Oh, Terry,” he says, climbing to his feet. Then his expression shifts to something that burns, and he rushes forward and slams Terry against the wall. The whole unit judders with sound.

“We won’t be changing the rules just yet, little bat,” the Joker purrs. “You might be tuckered out, but I’m doing just fine. So you go right on looking, and don’t say a word! Oh, it will _kill_ old Brucey to realize you’ve needed him all this time. By the time he does try to help, your family will be dead!”

Terry takes a sharp breath, loud enough that Steph can hear it. She’d had enough of this, but every word out of the Joker’s mouth proves that she was right to stay put.

”I’m going to kill you,” he says. “I’m not him. I’m going to _kill you.”_

“Terry, Terry, Terry,” the Joker says. “So optimistic. Do you mean you think you might actually _save_ your family, kill me and Harley, and live out the rest of your life in peace? _Really?”_

Terry looks up. “Trust me,” he says. “I’ve considered it.” The edge of his mouth turns up in a grim smile. “Now how about I kick your ass? You kind of like it when Batman does that, right?”

The Joker narrows his eyes. “You’re not Batman,” he says. “You’re just another little Robin flittering around in the dark, waiting to get caught in some bigger beastie’s talons. But if you want to _try_ to take me...” He spreads his arms wide.

Terry hesitates. “And that _is_ part of the deal?” he asks, with something that sounds like a laugh. “No consequences for anyone else if I deck you?”

“I already gave you one free punch!” Joker says. “Sure, why not? Go ahead and try! No one gets dead, what a deal!” He smiles. “Come on, hero.”

Terry aims a kick at the Joker’s midsection. It connects, and the Joker stumbles, but he grabs Terry’s leg and jerks him off his fee. Terry’s shoulders hit the ground hard, and he barely misses hitting his head. He starts up. The Joker shoves him down, face to the ground, and stomps down on his right hand. He tightens his hand on Terry’s neck. Terry makes a muffled, angry sound.

Steph swears under her breath, hands tightening on her staff.

“Made your point,” Terry says, trying to shake him off.

“Almost,” the Joker says. “I said I wouldn’t kill anybody! Did I say I won’t _up the stakes?”_ He wraps a fist around one of Terry’s tall bat-ears and rips the mask off, tossing it aside. Steph only has time to see Terry’s expression before the Joker hauls Terry back by the hair and slams him face first against the ground. Terry tries to push himself up, and the Joker throws him down again with the full force of his weight. This time, Terry doesn’t move. “Have fun explaining _that,”_ the Joker says, getting to his feet. He walks off into the shadows, leaving Terry on the ground.

Steph wants to scream, but years of experience stop her. Is Terry conscious? Is he breathing? She’s going to have to wait until the Joker’s gone for sure, or she’ll only make this worse. If he’s dead she’ll just have watched it happen. “Fuck,” she whispers. “Come on, kid.”

But after a few seconds Terry rolls onto his side, curling up for just a moment with his hand on his face before he climbs to his feet. He swipes up his mask, shuddering as he pulls it over his bloody face. Then he goes back to the open storage unit and pulls down the door until it locks. He finds the key on the ground and, amazingly enough, makes his way back to the office to return it. He still moves fast, but his whole body is rigid and deliberate, like the pain and distress might take him apart if he lets go. 

He stops halfway to the car to throw up, and Steph wants nothing more than to climb down and hold him until he stops shaking. But she waits to come down until Terry drives off. She knows the Joker well enough to know when he’ll stop watching--when there isn’t anything fresh to see.

~

Steph stashes her outfit and the mask in the garage, and changes into jeans and a t-shirt before going inside. She’s pretty rattled, and she’s not going to be able to tell Tim about it. If she tells Dick about it (and she has to tell _someone_ ), she’s going to have to admit to the whole “going to Gotham to talk” thing being kind of a lie. 

She marches into the kitchen, ready to see where she can start making good decisions. Dick and Tim are both there, waiting. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Dick says cheerfully, but he’s looking her over like he already knows. “We missed you. And we ate all the dinner. How was your evening?”

“Nice,” Steph says. She’s a fantastic liar, but she can’t entirely hide how upset she is. “I’m beat, though.”

“You look it,” Tim says, frowning in that way where just a tiny, thoughtful crease appears between his eyes.

“I had a beer?” Steph suggests.

“Do you need something to eat?” Dick asks. Still friendly, still casual, still watching her and watching Tim like he needs to keep them perfectly balanced or things will blow up.

“Not right now,” she says. “Mostly I really want some sex. Who’s up for it?” It’s a gamble.

Tim smiles. “I still feel kind of--like I want to just sleep? I’d take some company later, though. For sleeping.”

“Hmm,” Dick says. “You won’t be lonely?”

“As long as somebody comes in before it gets really late, I think I’ll be okay,” Tim says carefully. He still hates talking about himself like he’s damaged.

“Are you kidding?” Dick says, raising his eyebrows. “I couldn’t stay away from _you_.” 

Tim grins, easy and natural. It’s impossible not to believe Dick, even when he sounds absurd and old-fashioned. “You’re ridiculous. Tell me later if you do anything especially interesting.” He sounds like his younger self when he gets all precise and professional.

“Obviously,” Dick says, and leans in to kiss Tim’s forehead. “Night, Timmy.”

“Night,” Tim says. He kisses both of them on his way upstairs.

“Don’t worry,” Steph says as soon as he’s gone, “I didn’t get drunk and then ride my bike. Come on, guest room. I don’t want Tim to hear.”

“I’m so glad we got a house with a guest room,” Dick says cheerfully, following. “As long as our guests don’t know what it’s really for.” He’s afraid Tim will hear through the pretense before Steph ever gets as far as the problem.

The guest bedroom is on the first floor, and no sound carries between it and their real bedroom. Dick shuts the door as soon as they’re inside.

“So,” he says. “Are we going to do anything especially interesting?” He isn’t smiling. 

“That’s the problem,” Steph says. “I don’t think we can do _anything._ The Joker has Terry in a really bad situation. Before I explain—you have to promise me you won’t do _anything_ before we talk it out.”

Dick opens his mouth to instantly disagree, but Steph is glaring at him in her most loving way, and he knows she means it. His gut feels heavy. He says, “Okay, I promise. What’s the deal? Did Terry talk to you?”

Steph grimaces. “I didn’t try to talk. Sorry. I followed him to work.” She pulls her hair into a ponytail and lets go again. “He wasn’t _going_ to work, Dick. He was out by the waterfront.” She swallows. “The Joker was there.”

“What?” Dick says. “But no one’s been seeing the Joker.”

“I think,” Steph says, “Terry’s been seeing him. He was looking for his family.” 

“He’s been--?” Dick says. “But only the police are supposed to be looking for the McGinnises. That was the deal.” It was a bad deal, but it got them Terry back. It wasn’t supposed to get them a Terry who was alone with the Joker where no one could find them. 

Steph says, “He and Terry have a--deal.”

“One we didn’t know about?” Dick says, cottonmouthed. “Why hasn’t Terry told anyone?”

“Because, if any of us finds out, the Joker will kill them.” Steph’s nails are biting into her palms. “I don't know if there are other rules. I don’t know what the Joker’s been doing to him. He--he beat Terry up pretty badly tonight.”

“And you couldn’t stop him,” Dick says, and then shakes his head before Steph can feel too guilty. “No, I mean, if you’d stopped him something worse would have happened. This is--horrible.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Is the kid all right? Did he get home all right?”

She nods unhappily. “He got home. I followed him at a distance. I would’ve been home sooner if he hadn’t gone through Gotham—I guess to cover his tracks. But it was really bad, Dick. I thought he was dead for a minute there. Whatever the Joker’s plan is, I don’t think it ends well for Terry.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Dick says, flushing with anger. “If everything worked out for Terry, it wouldn’t hurt _Bruce.”_

“So what do we do?” Steph asks. “We can’t do nothing, now that we know. It’s going to kill him, trying to keep doing this alone.” She thinks about Terry’s defeated expression and how he was so good, putting everything back in place before he left, and her vision goes blurry with tears.

“Steph?” Dick says. “Honey?” 

“I don’t know how he can keep this secret. But if we try to find his family, the Joker might find out,” Steph says miserably. “God, it makes me so fucking furious.”

Dick says, “Steph--do you think there’s even going to be a secret, once Jay and Bruce see what the Joker did?” 

Jay is attached, and if you can say one good thing about Bruce, it’s that the man pays attention to details.

“Fuck,” Steph says. “No. His whole face is a mess. He’d have to come up with one hell of an excuse. So I guess secrecy is out, and we just have to run damage control? I want to talk to Terry, though, not Bruce. I--He looked so alone, Dick.”

Dick tugs at his hair. “Okay. Tomorrow. We could call ahead. Call Jay. See what’s going on.” He looks up. “No matter what we said to Tim, I think this has to be taken out of the kids’ hands. We can’t let them get hurt worse, even in the name of closure. And Bruce—I don’t know what he’ll want to do, but it’s never been enough before. I think we have to solve this.”

“No complaints here,” Steph says. Tim won’t like it, though, Dick is right. That’s a different problem, and one that’s just as difficult.

“I know,” Dick says. “Tim. I wish to God I could think of any way to get rid of the Joker without anyone getting hurt, but I can’t. He’s going to win that, anyway. He’s going to hurt us.” He turns his head sharply, like he’s trying to shake off a biting fly. “We’ve got to figure out what will help. We’ve got to figure out where he came from.” He doesn’t say where _they_ came from, can’t come to grips with the possibility that whatever they do to the Joker might affect Jason as well.

Steph nods. “Too bad Tim and Bruce are our two best detectives, huh? We’ll have to step it up a little.”

“Oh, whatever,” Dick says. “We can do it! We’re good at our jobs too, you know!”

“My job was hitting people,” Steph says, which isn’t entirely true. “Okay. Tomorrow, first thing, we start fixing shit. Tonight, we stay put.”

“And don’t tell,” Dick says.

~

Terry goes back to Gotham after that run-in, trying to figure out what input he can feed to the comms that will convince Bruce that his face didn’t break itself. He tries to hunt down someone to fake it for him realtime, but the housebreaker he finds doesn’t have the guts to do anything but give up. By then it’s so late that all Terry can do is desperately hunt through some archival hood footage and throw it on there and hope Bruce doesn’t remember that fight.

He makes it quick, in the cave. Bruce is coming down the stairs to check on him when he arrives.

“Comms still screwy,” he says.

“I’ll take a look,” Bruce says, and Terry waves him off. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Long night. I’m beat.” He doesn’t take the mask off, just saunters off before Bruce can object.

He stops by the kitchen for ice, and tries to clean himself up in the bathroom without making any noise. He desperately hopes Jay isn’t lounging around waiting for him, about to pop out and catch him.

When he makes it to his room he checks for bugs (you never know) and locks the door and gets undressed, and then lies there on his bed with a block of ice on his face and tries really hard not to cry. There’s no way to hide this. That’s not the only thing, but it’s the one Terry focuses on, and he can’t let it go.

He falls asleep after a while, through the pain in his face, and he’s out till the sun is up and there’s nowhere to hide.


	12. (you think) your only crime is that you got caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: violence and self-harm mentions, injury, sorrow

In the morning, Jason is the first to knock. “I made eggs!” he shouts through the door. “They’re not totally shitty!”

Terry jumps to his feet and tries to remember the plan: don’t panic, lie like crazy. “One sec!” he says, then punches the air a few times to beat back the unexpected pain of moving his mouth. “And,” he adds with careful casualness, “you have to promise not to freak out.”

After a second Jason says, “Uh, okay. Promise.”

“Lost a fight,” Terry says to the door. “Looks worse than it is.” Yeah, right. Talking makes him want to scream.

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Jason says. “Did you get Bruce to take a look at it?”

“Not yet,” Terry says. “Came in pretty late. Okay, here comes my face. Warning.” He pushes the door open.

Jason doesn’t gasp, because he hates it when people react like that, but he does twist his face up. “Jesus, McGinnis. You weren’t kidding. Who was it?” Not that Jason knows any of the new ones.

“Not even anybody,” Terry says. “Mugger who knows kickboxing, I guess. Stupid.”

“It happens,” Jason says. “Did you ice it? Must have, or it’d look puffier.” He gives Terry’s arm a sympathetic pat. Sometimes a mugger kicking you in the face just happens, and sometimes it happens because you’re upset or tired and not being careful.

“Yeah,” Terry says. “At least I’m not a complete failure.” He’s starting to breathe, now. 

“Can you _eat_ eggs? I can make smoothies or something,” Jason says. “Bruce is making coffee.” 

“Whatever you’re doing,” Terry starts, and then half-grimaces, which is worse than a usual grimace. “Maybe liquid.”

Maybe that, and maybe Bruce will go away and not ask questions and not think too hard about anything he saw while Terry was out last night. Or any footage he watched this morning.

Jason takes Terry to the kitchen, where Bruce is pouring the coffee. He raises an eyebrow. “Morning,” he says. Terry waves hello. “I didn’t see that last night,” Bruce adds pointedly.

“We’re both tired. Didn’t want to deal with it,” Terry says brazenly. “Coffee for me?”

“Mm,” Bruce says. “Here. Do you need anything? Is your nose broken?”

“It’s fine.” It’s not, but he’s more worried about his jaw.

“Let me take a look at you,” Bruce says, frown deepening. “Or Doctor Thompkins. Terry...that’s quite an injury.”

“Seemed okay last night,” Terry says.

“I don’t know how it could have.” Bruce takes a sip of his coffee and looks Terry in the eye.

“Adrenaline?” Terry says. He waves it off. “I’ll see the doc.”

“I’d like that.” Bruce grimaces. “And I’d like to go over what happened, to see if we can avoid it in the future.”

Terry keeps his cool as he answers. “No objections here.”

“I got this lecture all the time,” Jason says with forced cheer. “Bet it doesn’t happen to you as much.”

“It’s not a lecture,” Bruce says.

“Call the doc?” Terry requests. “Talking _hurts._ ”

Bruce nods and leaves the kitchen without looking back.

“What the hell was that about?” Jason asks. “He was really on you.”

“Mother hen lately,” Terry says. “They don’t leave marks that often. Suit.”

“So what went wrong last night?”

“Didn’t pay attention. Concrete.”

Jason winces. “Rough. Well, at least you made it back.” He has a really bad feeling about this, though. And it turns out cuts and bruises make him a little queasy now.

“Mm,” Terry agrees.

Jason bops Terry’s shoulder with his fist to see what’ll happen.

Terry doesn’t smile, because that is an awful idea, but he leans lightly back against Jason’s fist.

Jason smiles. “Gotcha. I know it hurts. But I’m around.” He hopes Terry knows he doesn’t just mean his face.

Terry swallows. “Thanks,” he says. He wishes he could say _no_ in a way that won’t hurt anybody. It won’t be Jason’s fault if liking Terry ruins everything, and Terry can’t pretend to dislike him.

Bruce returns. “I called the doctor. She can see you in a couple of hours. Which gives us time to talk.”

Terry’s heart sinks. He does his best to smooth it over, not to shake. “I love a lecture or whatever,” he says.

“I just want to clarify some things. Make sure you don’t get caught off guard again.”

“I _have_ been doing this for four years,” Terry points out. Speaking up for himself is making his eyes water.

“And it’s been almost three since I felt the need to seriously question you,” Bruce says. “I just want to go over what happened, Terry.”

“Fine,” Terry says. “Cave? You have visual aids, doncha?”

“You know me too well,” Bruce says, but he’s not smiling. 

He takes Terry down to the cave, where the big screen shows paused footage of what’s supposed to be Terry’s patrol last night.

“Okay,” Terry says, like he doesn’t even see the screen. “From the beginning? I can write it out.”

“That’s fine,” Bruce says. “Don’t aggravate your injury. Just summarize for me what happened. I’m having trouble understanding.”

“What? Guy surprised me. Grabbed the mask. Faceplant to the concrete. He didn’t see me, though.”

“We should watch that,” Bruce says.

“Sure,” Terry says, “assuming it’s not one of the outages.”

“Which shouldn’t be happening.”

“Agreed,” Terry says. He can’t tell if he’s using the right voice or making the right gestures.

“ _Terry,_ you’re lying to me, and I don’t know why.” Bruce sounds frustrated. “I thought maybe we were having trouble interacting because of the--the breakup, but it’s not that. What really happened? What are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing,” Terry says. “C’mon, I’ll go to the doctor, we can fix the equipment, and we’re good.” They can’t look right now, or Bruce will find something Terry left behind. Manual reprogramming on the GPS, or timestamps he didn’t clear out because he was rushed, sloppy, desperate. They can’t do this now.

“I’m worried about you,” Bruce says. “And I’m not letting this go. Don’t forget who I am. I’ll figure it out.” Terry feels fear and anger rise in him in a rush.

“No you won’t,” Terry says. “Bruce, there’s nothing to know, what the _hell_? What do you want? Like things aren’t bad enough without you coming after me?” 

Bruce stands abruptly. “Do you think I’m stupid or senile? Or that I just wouldn’t notice? I know you faked the footage for last night. And once I knew that, I went looking. This isn’t the only time something was off. This is more than a few comm flickers, McGinnis.”

“Well, I don’t know!” says Terry. Oh god, it’s not worth it, it won’t work, he has to keep trying but it won’t help at all. “What is it, then?”

“It’s you, covering something up on your patrols since you came back to work,” Bruce says grimly. “In fact, I think you started hiding things _before_ you came back. What I can’t think of is what you could possibly have to hide from me.”

“ _Nothing,”_ Terry says. His face hurts so badly he thinks he might start crying just from talking so much. “You know everything that’s going on! Jesus, Bruce!”

Bruce stops, clenching and unclenching his firsts, angry and helpless. “I’m not going to get anywhere by arguing with you until you hurt yourself. But don’t think I’m going to let this go.”

“Fine,” Terry says. “That’s fine, old man, just save it ‘til later, and I-- _ohh_.” He curls forward suddenly, hands against his face, and wonders if the deal’s already shot, no matter what he says. They won’t let him out of the house tonight. The Joker told him they’d kill Matt first. 

“McGinnis!” Bruce is at his side immediately, touching his shoulder. “I’m driving you to the doctor right now. No more talking.”

Terry nods, dizzy, and grabs onto Bruce’s sleeve. _Sorry,_ he wants to say. _Sorry, sorry, sorry._ He wants to tell Bruce everything and have him make it okay. But Bruce can’t make it okay. He can only make it worse. The worst.

Bruce scoops Terry into his arms like he weighs nothing and starts-- slowly--up the stairs. “I’ve got you,” he mutters uselessly. “It’s okay, Terry. I’m here.”

Jason, who’s been crouched at the top of the stairs, gets himself out of the way in short order before Bruce reaches the top. He ducks around the corner and then comes back around, saying loudly, “Whoa! What happened to him?”

“Too much talking,” Bruce says shortly. “I’m taking him to Doctor Thompkins now.”

~

Bruce drives and Jason, refusing to be left behind, sits with Terry in the back. Terry doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t look like he’d want to if he could. He won’t look at either of them. 

Jason babbles the whole way there, half filling the space, half trying to cheer Terry up. “I can’t imagine not being able to talk,” he says. “That would be pretty much the worst, for me. Although, gotta say, I think your quips when you’re working are even better than mine.” He squeezes Terry’s knee.

Terry nods numbly. There’s no way. There’s no way that Bruce is going to let him go out tonight, that he won’t find him if Terry sneaks out, that he won’t figure out enough of what’s happening to ruin everything. Terry tried, Terry bought himself every day he could, and he was so busy hiding from Bruce that he didn’t do the thing that mattered and bring his family home. He wants to slam his fists against a wall until they bleed.

“Sorry,” Jason says quietly, watching Bruce’s scowl in the rearview mirror. “I’m really sorry I can’t help with everything that’s going on.” If Terry is hiding something from Bruce, he has a good reason. Jason knows how that works. Bruce doesn’t get to know everything.

Terry does look at him, then. Just for a second. He nods, and leans a little against Jason’s side.

Jason lets Terry lean there without trying to touch him anywhere else, and quiets down until they reach the doctor’s office.

“Want me to hold onto your jacket and stuff while you’re in there?” Jason asks. “Promise I won’t steal your change. Or, like, money cards or whatever.”

Terry nods, with the half a smile that’s practical. Bruce parks, they get out, and Terry and Jason follow Bruce up to the third floor, where Dr. Thompkins’ office is. Terry wonders whether she’s going to see this as one of the times when Terry gets to cut in line. Bruce clearly does, but Bruce doesn’t always see clearly.

Bruce goes past reception, straight to the door of Dr. Thompkins’ office. “Doctor,” he says loudly. “We’re here.”

Dr. Thompkins opens the door after a moment. “I’m with a patient, Bruce,” she says sharply. She looks at Terry’s face and frowns. “I’ll see you next, though. Get some ice from reception and don’t talk.”

Terry nods, and he trails back after Bruce. He keeps quiet while Bruce asks for ice, and takes it without meeting his eyes.

Jason can tell Bruce is upset, because he keeps looking around furiously as if for someone to yell at. Jason takes a seat and thumbs through a magazine, trying not to worry too hard about a few scrapes and bruises. There are way more important things to worry about. Terry is not okay, and Bruce isn’t helping.

It’s not too long before Dr. Thompkins comes out of her office with her previous patient, a little girl. She’s not hurrying, at least until the girl goes to her parents. Then the doctor strides over to Terry.

“Okay, Mr. McGinnis, let’s go chat in my office.”

Terry gets up--ignores nodding this time--and puts his jacket in Jason’s lap, before he follows Dr. Thompkins down the hall and out of sight. 

~

Jason, clutching Terry’s phone in his hand, glances over and Bruce and says, “Dr. Thompkins?”

“Leslie’s daughter,” Bruce says shortly.

Jason nods, gulping. He says hesitatantly, “Is he gonna be okay, or what?” He doesn’t really think he’ll get anything useful out of Bruce at a time like this, but he’s going to make small talk until he can think of a good excuse to go outside.

“He’d better be,” Bruce growls, after a pause.

“Yeah, Bruce, threaten him into a happy, healthy lifestyle,” Jason says. “Great plan. Look, getting hurt on the job happens. You should lay off him.” It’s obviously more than that, but Jason isn’t going to press a point that Terry so clearly wants left alone.

“He’s not getting hurt on the _job,”_ Bruce says. “He’s getting hurt being stupid.”

Jason knows this one by heart, so he gets ready to tune it out. “Yeah, and you’re doing wonders for his health,” he mutters. He toys with the phone. He totally knows how to work this thing.

“Jason,” Bruce starts, and then clamps his jaw shut, staring at the opposite wall.

In the past, Jason probably would have said _It’s not your fault_ , but it’s not the past, and right now this _is_ Bruce’s fault. He’s making it worse, anyway. “Gonna get some air,” he says. “I won’t go far, don’t worry.” It occurs to him that Bruce might not let him, which would be a pain.

But Bruce just says, “Watch your back,” and blinks at the wall.

Jason knows that Bruce becomes a complete asshole when he’s worried, so he mostly feels bad about the whole thing. He wants them both to be okay, but right now, Terry’s his priority. Once he’s outside, he goes around the back of the building and takes out Terry’s phone. He’s not going to let Terry just get worse and worse, and that’s exactly what’ll happen if he’s stuck in the manor with Bruce yelling at him and Jason freaking out.

Jason can’t figure out where the “recently dialed” (as if dialing is still a thing) section on the phone is. “Max,” he informs the phone, to see if that works. The screen lights up, and a young woman’s face appears, phone number beneath it. MAX GIBSON, it says. There’s a green button underneath her name.

“I am awesome at technology,” Jason mutters, pressing the button. 

The phone brrrs at him a few times, and then the same voice Jason heard the other day says, “Hey, Ter, what’s up?”

“Not Terry, actually,” Jason says in a rush. He sucks at talking to strangers. He always gets all awkward and cranky. “Jason Todd. Listen, Terry needs you.”

“Whaaat?” Max says. “Jason Todd, ex-Robin extraordinaire. I hear you’re cute. What’s wrong with my best friend?”

Jason laughs. “God, you’re like a girl Terry. Only with less attractively broad shoulders.” He clears his throat. “So, Terry’s a mess. He got hurt on patrol last night, pretty bad, and he’s lying to Bruce about what happened. I guess he’s been doing a lot of that. He’s really scared, I think. I don’t know what to do. Bruce sucks at people and I don’t even know Terry that well.”

“I was gonna come this weekend,” Max says. “I’ll just come up a few days early. I think I can sneak out of a couple classes without any trouble. Hey, Jason? Don’t let him know I’m coming unless you have to. I don’t think a houseguest is gonna set his mind at ease.”

“I know,” Jason says unhappily. “I’m really glad I know about you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do. I’m scared he’s gonna get really hurt.” He feels suddenly very much sixteen, and Max can probably tell.

“You’re doing great,” Max says. “I’m not just saying that to keep you from freaking out. Trust me, from what I hear--you’re doing great. Can you keep your eye on Terry for me, until I get there?”

“Trust me, I am,” Jason says. “He’s, uh, turning out to be kind of important to me.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Good,” Max says. “He’s important to me too. Catch you soon, little J.”

Jason doesn’t love that, but he’ll let her get away with it for now. “Yeah, see ya.” He hangs up and leans against the wall. He really hopes this was the smart thing to do, and that it helps. It’ll be good for Terry to see someone who’s not a cape, anyway.

When he figures it’ll be more trouble to stay outside, he goes back in, Terry’s phone in his pocket. “Nothing exciting and futuristic out there,” he tells Bruce, and then he goes back to his magazine.

Bruce frowns and laces his fingers and says gruffly, “I’m sorry things aren’t--what you would have liked.” He doesn’t even know what that is, but he’s certainly failing to meet the mark.

“They never are,” Jason says, shrugging. “I didn’t grow up in Richville. I’m used to the idea that things are gonna be kind of shitty all over the place. I just want you and Terry to be okay. Simple.”

“I meant me,” Bruce mutters. He looks at Jason almost hopefully.

“Oh, Bruce, Jesus--” Jason leans over and grabs his hand. “Come on. What teenager ever ends up obsessed with someone who he _should_ be with for the rest of his life? I’m okay with you being--you. Okay, pal?”

Bruce refrains from pointing out that, from all appearances, Jason is still a teenager, and is now obsessed with _Terry._ He removes his hand from Jason’s grip and pats his cheek. On a second thought, he puts his hand in Jason’s hair and strokes his head, once. 

“I know what you think about privacy,” he says. “I’m worried that what Terry is keeping private is going to get him killed. You might want to consider that, when you decide how to help him.”

“Don’t worry,” Jason says, trying not to lean into Bruce’s touch too much. “I have a plan. My way.” So far is plan is to avoid freaking out, get Max here, give Terry a hug, and hope Dick has some better ideas.

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Your way doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore what’s going on. I’m not going to prove how much I value him by letting him get himself killed.”

“What if he actually has a good reason for not wanting you involved?” Jason asks. He doesn’t know that, but Terry’s got way more common sense than Jason ever did. He might know what he’s doing.

“Whatever his plan is, it’s untenable,” Bruce says. “And I can’t--” But he stops, mid-sentence, and his eyes glint at something Jason can’t see.

Jason jiggles his leg and watches Bruce thinking fast. It’s kind of terrifying. “What?” he asks after a second.

“It _was_ the Joker,” Bruce says, low and quiet. “Terry’s been seeing the Joker.”

“Oh my God,” Jason says. “Shit. That explains--everything, right? That’s why he wasn’t surprised to see him. And that’s why he can’t tell.” But if Terry’s going after the Joker alone...

Bruce shakes his head. “I should have known this weeks ago. I should have _assumed_ the Joker would set up another game with Terry on the side. It must have something to do with finding his family. Terry keeps going off comms, but it can’t be to fight, or he would have landed in the hospital before now. And it doesn’t gain him anything to fight the Joker directly--Harley Quinn is the one with her finger on the trigger. If something happened to the Joker, she’d act. He must be dangling someone over Terry’s head. His family. Or us--but my guess is he’s giving Terry a false chance to save them. Whatever happened last night, you can bet it was part of that game.”

Jason shakes his head. “Wow.” It’s always amazing when Bruce does this, and in this case, it’s horrifying. “Sounds right to me,” he says. “Fuck, Bruce, what are we supposed to do? We’re stuck.” He thinks about Terry going out there alone, not hopeless enough, and getting beaten up and taunted. Jason is going to hurt someone.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “Keep our mouths shut until we get home, at least.”

Jason’s glad Bruce isn’t flying off the handle about this, but he probably wouldn’t have made it so long if he did that kind of thing _regularly_. “Okay,” he says. “Can I--like, sit near you or something?”

Bruce breathes out his nose and rubs his eyebrows. “Of course you can,” he says.

Jason hops up and takes the seat next to Bruce, curling his feet up under him. “This is the worst,” he says.

Bruce looks at him askance, sort of puckered up. “You know, I missed having you around,” he says. It’s a wild understatement, but he can’t do better than that. Hardly ever. Not right now.

Jason grins. “No kidding. Well, I’m here now. Probably to stay, unless the doctor’s got bad news for everyone. I’ll take care of ya, old man.”

Luckily Jason knows that looking gruff is Bruce’s way of looking grateful.

The door to the office opens and Doctor Thompkins comes out with Terry. “I’ll see you next week,” she says. “Or sooner, when we get back the rest of the results for Jason. Should be any day now. Take care, Terry, all right?”

Terry nods, and shuffles miserably towards Bruce and Jason. All the cool cheery confidence, all the focus that makes him so reassuring and so good at his job is gone, sucked right out of him. Even if he doesn’t think his secret’s out, he must be thinking some damned awful thoughts about Bruce and Jason. It’s not right. He’s not supposed to look afraid of _them._

“Hey,” Jason says springing to his feet and pushing his fist against Terry’s upper arm. “Hey, pal. What’s the word? Don’t tell me, if you’re not supposed to talk.” He winces. Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.

“He’s not,” Dr. Thompkins says. “His jaw’s fractured, and he has a concussion. Here.” She shoves a packet of papers at Bruce. “I want you to pick up these painkillers for him, and make sure he does everything else on that list. Most importantly, ice and _rest_. I mean that.” She looks between the two of them as she says it.

“Of course,” Bruce says after a pause. Amazing how no situation makes him comfortable with taking orders. “Thank you. Terry, we’re going home.”

Terry nods, eyes shut. 

Jason grabs Terry’s hand. “C’mon, you. Let’s get you home and in bed.” Every time he looks at Terry, he thinks about what Terry’s been going through without anybody knowing. Without anyone _helping_.

Terry holds on, more tightly than Jason expects.

~

Bruce and Jason bring Terry home, and Bruce goes out again to get him painkillers and ice. When he comes back, Terry pretty much drugs up and passes out. Jason paces the house not doing anything with himself, getting angrier and more scared by the minute. He needs Dick. He needs Max. He needs someone who’ll make things all right for Terry, because he can’t stand this.

He slips into Terry’s room and comes to sit carefully on the edge of the bed. “Hey, McGinnis. I know you can’t talk to me, but I just wanted to, you know...” He doesn’t have any useful words, but words aren’t really his strong suit. He leans over and gives Terry a very light kiss.

Terry whimpers and sits upright. “I can talk,” he says carefully. His voice sounds awful, like he’s trying not to cry. “Don’t leave. Is Bruce mad?” Bruce hasn’t been here, so probably yes.

“Nobody’s mad,” Jason says, his chest tight. “He’s just scared. He doesn’t want to make anything worse. Terry--we’re not gonna make it worse.” They can’t let Terry go out tonight, though. Jason squeezes his arm and kisses him on the forehead.

Terry says, on autopilot, “Make what worse?” The painkillers are narcotics and they’re still kicking, and it’s making all of his emotions screwy. He wonders if he told them everything and forgot about it. It seems like Jason knows. He says, “Claustrophobic in here. Definitely gonna go out.”

“You can’t,” Jason says. “Terry, come on, look at you. If you go out like this, someone could kill you. Anyone could. Just stay here until you feel better and then you can get back to...whatever.” Telling Terry he knows is probably an awful idea, at least right now. But Terry’s not stupid, and it shows on his face.  
“I know,” Jason says miserably. “Listen, I promise we’re not gonna fuck anything up for you, even if we have an idea what you’ve been up to.”

Bruce,” Terry says. He doesn’t think Jason would interfere in anything he was doing, stupid or otherwise. Bruce doesn’t know how not to.

“Yeah,” Jason says reluctantly. “Well, Dick and I will kick his ass and stop him.”

“Dick?” Terry says, sounding strangled.

“I don’t know if I can stop Bruce by myself,” Jason says, almost pleading. “But Dick doesn’t have to know anything.”

Terry shakes his head violently, and turns a horrible grey color. He shuts his eyes.

“There’s nothing to--know,” he says. 

“I swear to god,” Jason says, “I won’t touch it. I won’t even talk about it. Listen, those creeps out there murdered my mom. I won’t put anyone else’s family in danger. I know you’re out of it, but you’ve gotta trust me.”

The grey turns ashy.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Terry says. “I’m not--” There’s a second of focus in his eyes. Jason can practically see him getting an idea. “I’m not—being—a hero.”

Jason nods. “Okay,” he says, sick to his stomach. “Listen, you should take a nap before you try to think about any of this.”

“Don’t want to hear about my fuck-ups, huh?” Terry asks, nearly vicious. He’s running off the rails, but Jason isn’t Bruce. He’ll let Terry lie, if that will help.

“I don’t want you to beat yourself up,” he says. “But hey, if you’re going to, I’d rather stick around.” He settles in securely next to Terry, arm wrapped tight around his waist. “Explain to me how you’re not the best, bravest guy in the world.”

“Shut up,” Terry says. “I’m not.”

“So tell me all about it.”

“I’m not helping anybody,” Terry says. His breath hitches, and Jason _knows_ he thinks that part’s true. “I’m not even Batman. No costume. Just me. That’s how…” He gestures to his face, and gulps in a breath. “Don’t want a therapist. Don’t want to talk.”

“Yeah,” Jason says slowly.

“Lots of people don’t,” Terry says. “It’s...easier, to just. Go find a fight.”

Jason thinks about this and keeps his arm tight around Terry. “Sounds like the kind of therapy I’d pick,” he says, and adds carefully, “So how come you didn’t react when the Joker attacked me?”

“He was hurting you,” Terry says. “I had to get you back.”

Maddeningly, Jason doesn’t know Terry well enough to be sure Bruce is right and this _is_ a lie. It’s getting more convincing as it goes along. “You don’t have to go out tonight,” he says.

“Okay,” Terry says, which Jason _doesn’t_ believe.

“Are you going to tell Bruce?” he asks. “About the…fighting?”

“Guess so,” Terry says.

“If you do, I’ve got your back,” Jason says. “I’ve had that lecture before, too.” And Bruce will be able to tell if it’s not true.

“Nice of you.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you’ve done or what you’re doing,” Jason says. “I’m on your side.” Someone has to be. Because Gotham fucks people over. Because Bruce, even if he doesn’t mean to, fucks people over.

Terry says, “Shit.”

“It’s horrible,” Jason agrees. “Fucking awful. But don’t be alone.” Jason can’t think of anything worse than not being able to get to your family. Even dying was better. Terry’s probably decided that, too.

“Yeah,” Terry says, looking grateful. Looking willing to accept him, anyway. “Okay.”

Jason pulls Terry closer, careful of his face, and says, “Good Terry.” He wants to say _Love ya,_ but Terry might take it wrong.

“Hm,” Terry says painfully. He shuts his eyes a minute later, and falls asleep a minute after that.


	13. I don't know where I'm going (but I don't think I'm coming home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: injury, blood, ptsd / hallucination

Jason doesn’t sleep. He sits in Terry’s bed, arm around him, sneakers on the covers, trying to pretend anything is going well. Jason is _helping_ , so that’s good, right? Except he feels like shit. He’s caught somewhere between terror and anger, and he hasn’t been letting himself pay attention do it. 

When he hears the doorbell, he’s out of bed and heading down the stairs before he can think. If Max is here, Jason’s off guard duty, and he can go deal with the fact that he feels like he’s choking. Bruce is already answering the door when he gets there, letting a hot girl into the house. 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Bruce says.

“I’m pretty sure Jason invited me,” Max tells him, and then peeks around Bruce’s shoulder and says, “Hey, there. Look at _you._ You’re a little bigger than I expected?”

“I’m not a _child_ Jason says. “I haven’t been a child in forever. Wow, you’re ever hotter than your pictures.” He gives her a disarming grin, because he feels about a million miles away and like maybe he’s going to scream.

“Thanks,” Max says. “Where’s Terry?”

“He’s in his room,” Jason says. “Sleeping. He’s pretty out of it with the painkillers and stuff.”

“Thanks,” Max says again. “Nice to meet you, Jay. Bruce.” She nods to the latter and starts walking past them, but then spins on her heel. “Is there anything I should know?” she asks. “Beyond the glaringly obvious?”

“Just, uh--he’s really upset,” Jason says. “And he might try to leave. Don’t let him leave.”

Max looks at him, too evenly. Everyone Jason knows who isn’t evil has to avert their eyes from each other. They’re hiding too much shit not to. But Max can meet him head-on, and Bruce too, apparently.

“You said he’s lying about what happened,” she says. “If you know he’s lying, you must have some idea what the truth is.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “We figured it out. I think. I’m not sure. He said some stuff, but--I don’t know.” Terry can tell Max whatever he wants and she can judge how true it is.

“Thanks for the help,” Max says, unimpressed, and goes on up the stairs.

Jason waits a second, then says, “Okay, well, I’m gonna go listen to music.” Before Bruce can argue, he takes off after Max. He only slows down so he won’t catch up to her. He waits till he hears Terry’s door shut, then comes around the corner to lean against it, ear to the crack.

~

Max breathes a noise, not quite a whistle, when she sees Terry. The lights are on. There’s a prescription bottle on the bedside table, and a glass of water, which is mostly empty. Terrible caretaking, to nobody’s surprise. She pulls the desk chair up to Terry’s bedside and says, in a low voice, “Hey, Ter. I’m here to cheer you up. And, you know, ask you what the hell you’re doing.”

Terry groans and opens his eyes. “Max?” His jaw is stiff and it hurts like hell to talk. “What’re you doing here?”

“Jason borrowed your phone at the doctor’s,” Max says. “Said you were in bad shape. And look at that, you are. Come on, what happened, Terry-bear?”

Terry wants to cry, but he thinks that’ll hurt more. “Not--much.” It’s so hard to keep lying. He just wants to _sleep_. “I got hurt on patrol.”

“Likely, since that’s like all you ever do,” Max says. “But if it weren’t a big deal, you’d be telling me all about the jerk who did it, and about how now they’re behind bars?”

“I think I’m the jerk,” Terry says miserably. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Just for a minute,” Max says. “What story are you spinning for the boys downstairs?”

“I told Jay I’ve been looking for fights to lose.”

Max looks him over. ”And he doesn’t know you, so he buys it?” she says. “How about Bruce? I mean, you can’t think _I_ believe you.”

Terry shakes his head, and regrets it. “Uh, can you grab that bottle? think I need a--”

Max picks up the bottle and pops the lid. “So what’s the game? You got frustrated so you started looking out for people to beat you up?” she says. She squints at the bottle and then hands him one pill. “No more ‘til eight,” she says.

“Yeah?” Terry offers. “It’s not--a Batman thing. Easier than—feeling nothing. Doing nothing.”

“Easier,” Max says. “Okay. I totally agree you need therapy, but you can drop the story. I’ve known you since you were eight. You aren’t sitting tight while the cops do their thing, and you’re not self-medicating with masochism, and you’re sure as hell not giving up. What’s the deal?”

Terry shakes his head, sending another spike of pain through his jaw. “Max. Please.”

“What’s going to happen if you tell the truth, McGinnis?” she asks.

“I _can’t_ ,” Terry says. “Not Bruce and Jason, especially, but not you, either.” 

“Will he hurt them?” Max asks. 

“He’ll kill them,” Terry whispers.

“He’ll kill _you,”_ Max retorts, and then shudders. She’s known all the McGinnises a long time. “Ter, this isn’t working. I don’t know what the rules are, but you’ve got to know he’ll change them.”

“I can’t help that!” Terry shouts, and he doubles up from the pain. “Max, I can’t let anyone help me. He’ll kill them, and it’ll be my fault. I don’t care what happens to me, I just want them back safe.”

“I know that,” Max says. “I know, Ter, but he’s--if he’s letting you play, he’s playing with you. I’d bet anything he just wants Wayne to watch you lose.”

“So what choice do I have?” Terry asks. “If I don’t play, he kills them.”

“And if you do?” Max says. “Look at you, seriously.”

Terry shrugs.

“What are the rules?” Max asks. Terry sighs.

“I look for them by myself,” Terry says. “No one can know. Every day I look without getting caught, he doesn’t hurt them. If someone does find out--” His throat constricts. “Then I get a week. And…no guarantees. On the week.” He shakes his head slightly. “That’s it.”

Max nods, trying to keep her cool. “Okay. So--so who’s on your team? One fabulous super-genius almost-Robin, named Max. Two Batmans. One angry kid with I’m pretty sure a serious Joker grudge. One police commissioner? How about the other Robins?”

“I don’t know,” Terry says. “Tim Drake won’t want in, and I woudn’t ask. Other than that--not sure. I’ve been too good at keeping my mouth shut.” He punches his blankets. “You know, no matter how good we are, he’s always better.”

“ _Terry,”_ Max says. She leans up, careful but fierce, and hugs him hard. “He can’t be better than all of us,” she says. “It’s got to be us, though. You need help.”

“ _How?”_ Terry asks. “How won’t that just screw everything up?”

“Half of us are geniuses?” she says. “We’ll work it out. I can totally be a Robin, by the way, if you’re over your stupid loner jerk attitude.”

Terry smiles as much as his jaw will let him. “No Robins. But thanks. What about Bruce? Bet he’ll do something stupid.”

“Probably,” Max says. That’s her default position on the great Bruce Wayne, even when she has no idea what kind of stupid thing he’ll do. “Are you saying no to my plan?”

Terry shuts his eyes, and shakes his head.

Max exhales. “Okay, good. So we’ll get everybody on board, and we’re gonna get you out of the line of fire, a little, so you can actually--”

Then she shuts up, because someone is screaming. 

“Terry,” she says. 

Terry starts to roll out of bed, but sits back fast. “Max, I can’t—can you?”

“Yeah, I can look,” Max says. “Hold tight.”

She heads out of the room and hopes it’s nothing fatal.

~

Jason knew he shouldn’t have listened. Everything is a blur of red and green at the edges of his vision, and he can’t see straight, can’t think straight, can’t handle any of this. _He’ll kill them_ , he hears again and again, and he can’t breathe as Terry tells Max the Joker’s plan. His palms are pressed against the door, his mouth open.

The Joker never gets less horrible. This is what Terry’s been facing. And this is how their lives are. Always. It never stops, because Terry’s right, the Joker is _always better_ , Jason mouths it along with Terry, and then he thinks he’ll be sick if he doesn’t run.

There’s nowhere to go that feels _safe,_ so he goes to the kitchen, where he knows he can break something. The clang of the first pot he hurls to the ground is the sound of the crowbar hitting metal. The crash of the first glass against the wall is the sound of the explosion. 

He’s not crying, but he is making noise. Bruce comes into the room just as a wine glass goes sailing towards the doorway, and ducks back just in time not to be showered in its remains. 

“Jason,” he says. His eyes are sharp.

“ _No_ ,” Jason growls. “Too late, old man. Too _scared_. If you didn’t want this, you should have kept me safe.” He knows what he’s saying, even if he can’t focus and he can smell blood.

“Jason,” Bruce says. “It’s all right now. You’re all right.” He holds his hand out like he’s trying to calm a worried dog, or hold it down so it stops worrying him.

Jason takes up another wine glass and smashes it against the table, screaming, “ _Do I fucking look all right?”_

“You’re panicking,” Bruce says. Calm and too calm, like always. Talking people down from ledges has never been his forte, not as much as talking down to people. “You need to focus on where you are. Jason, pay attention.”

“Pay attention to what?” Jason shouts. His hand is bleeding in a couple of places, maybe he should pay attention to that. “I can feel myself being _murdered,_ Bruce.” He throws another glass, aiming for Bruce’s face. Bruce tries to duck, blocking it with his sleeve. It clunks against the floor without breaking. 

“Here,” Bruce says. “Pay attention to here, and now. No one is attacking you.” He gestures Jason’s bloody hand. “Jason, you’re hurting yourself.”

“Do you care?” Jason asks. “If I bleed on your nice fancy shit, does that matter to you at all? Why is he alive, Bruce? Why is he still hurting people the same way he hurt me?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “I don’t know why either of you are alive. Tim killed him.”

“Good!” Jason shouts. “He did what you couldn’t! After the Joker fucked him up, just like he fucked us all up!” 

Bruce just stares back at him, blank and unspeaking. He’s always got to be a goddamned wall, especially when he’s _wrong._

“He’s right about you,” Jason says. His hand is starting to hurt and he’s crushing glass under his sneakers. “You’re the same. Except you make people _trust_ you before you screw them over.”

“Jason,” Bruce says. He takes more steps into the room. “I tried. When he had Tim--I would have. I would have broken my own rules. Tim got there first.”

Jason throws down the splintering remains of the glass and throws himself at Bruce, hitting him in the chest with his fists. “ _What—about—me?_ ”

Bruce stumbles back against the doorway, and his cane is knocked from his hand. He tries to grab at Jason’s arms, to still him, to shake him, to hold him until he stops, but Jason is too angry and strong with fear and rage, and all Bruce manages to do is hold him back a little.

“You think I didn’t care,” he says. “I cared, Jay. I cared then. And now. Listen to me.”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Jason growls, and he ducks under Bruce’s arm. He marches down the hall, and punches a picture on the wall because he can’t find anything else to punch. “Ow, fuck, _God_ , Jesus _Christ,_ Bruce--” He wants to kill Bruce.

Bruce retrieves his cane, painfully, and hurries up the hall in Jason’s wake.

“Jason!” he says. “Stop! Tearing the house down and hurting yourself isn’t going to help anything. Come back and talk to me.”

That sounds, at least, like the kind of thing Bruce used to say to Jason, before all the stuff Jason can’t stop thinking about. “...Okay,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you,” Bruce says. He closes the distance between them more slowly than he’d like. He glances at the blood on Jason’s hands and then sets the information aside to meet Jason’s eyes. “You can say anything you want,” he says gruffly. “I’ll listen.”

Jason would have believed that without question, in the past. Now, he tries. “Okay, I. I think I need some help. Because I can’t get it out of my head. And, and I’m so pissed that you didn’t try to kill him for it. Because now he’s hurting other people _and_ because--God, Bruce, do you know what I would have done if he’d hurt someone I cared about? Do you know what I’m _going_ to do?”

Bruce stands stiffly for a few seconds before he says, “You probably would have killed him.”

“Don’t say _probably_ ,” Jason snaps. “You know me. I thought I knew you.”

“I don’t want you to be a murderer, Jay,” Bruce says roughly. “It isn’t worth it.”

Jason starts to ask what the hell Bruce would know about murder, but then the whole thing is back, crashing into his mind like a wall of water, and he can’t stop seeing it. Blood, his blood, and the sounds—he can barely breathe through his fear. His knees buckle and he grabs for Bruce, misses, loses track of everything he’s supposed to be holding onto. He drops to his knees, saying, “Don’t--don’t--Bruce-- _help me!”_ Then he loses all his words.

“Jason!” Bruce is at his side and on his knees in an instant, trying to shore Jason up, trying to speak over him, trying to help, somehow. “Jason, I’m here, you’re okay, _come back,”_ he pleads.

But Jason can’t come back. He curls into a ball, scream-sobbing raggedly. He’s not gonna make it. He’s gonna die. He’s not going home this time.

Max comes down the stairs and finds them there. Bruce is crouching over Jason, his hands at a loss, talking too low for Max to hear, while Jason cries on the floor like he’s somewhere else entirely. Bruce looks up in a snap when a stair creaks under Max’s feet. She’s never seen him look like that before--out of his shell. Maybe guilty, definitely afraid.

She takes the rest of the steps two at a time. 

“Is he hurt?” she asks. “Is it--is he remembering something?”

Bruce shakes his head like he doesn’t really see her. “Both,” he says. Jason’s blood is everywhere, and it’s making everything worse. Jason makes a horrified whimpering sound.

Max takes a deep breath. She’s pretty unflappable, but this isn’t the best thing to walk in on. 

“I know literally nothing about dealing with this,” she says in a rush. “But I guess you talk to him, and I’ll get first aid.” She can look up handy tips for dealing with PTSD flashbacks on her phone. “Where—where exactly would first aid be?”

For a second, all Bruce can think of is the cave. “I--the bathroom. Down the hall. There’s a kit under the sink.” He doesn’t know how to touch Jason, or if he should be touching him at all.

Max runs off down the hall. She talks to her phone as she goes. It doesn’t tell her anything she wouldn’t have guessed, but at least there’s some confirmation that her ideas aren’t completely terrible. 

She finds the first aid kit all right, and jogs back again. She can still hear Jason. She’d bet anything Terry won’t be in his room for more than another minute, at a liberal estimate.

“My completely untested unprofessional advice is, tell him where he is and try not to get hit,” she says to Bruce.

Bruce nods numbly. “I--yes. I know.” He’s not sure he does. “Jason. You’re home.”

“No,” Jason says thickly. “No, no, no, I want my mom.”

“You’re at Wayne Manor, sweetie,” Max says. “You’re right here. I’m Terry’s friend Max. Mr. Wayne is here. You cut yourself a little, but you’re okay.” She doesn’t think she’d be reassured, in similar circumstances.

“My _mom_ ,” Jason insists.

“She’s not here right now,” Max says, trying to keep her voice calm. “Try to look at where we are. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. We’re going to take care of you. You’re okay.”

Jason focuses on her. “It’s a trick,” he says, his voice flat and almost reasonable, leaning up on one elbow. “You think I’m stupid? Everybody always--but I’m not. I know where I am.”

“Where?” Max asks.

“Ethiopia,” Jason says.

“No, Jay,” Max says. “You’re in Gotham.” And then shoots Bruce a look to add, _Say something useful, you bastard._ She wonders if they’re about to have to take her _don’t get hit_ advice seriously.

“Jay!” They all turn to find Terry climbing down the stairs, dizzy but unstoppable. “What happened?”

Bruce’s head snaps up again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just came into the kitchen and he was throwing things. I made it worse. But I don’t know what started it.”

Jason sobs and tries to hide his face against the floor.

Terry reaches them. “He’s hurt,” he says. He gets awkwardly to one knee and touches Jason’s shoulder. “Jay,” he says. “Hey, Jay, look up, okay?”

“It’s a trick,” Jason mutters into the floor. “I don’t know you. I want my mom.”

“You and me both, buddy,” Terry says, voice catching. Then he says, weakly, “Jason, were you--did you hear something?”

That makes Jason pause. He stops crying for a second, anyway. Then he says, “Yeah. Everything.”

“Oh,” Terry says. He clears his throat and tries to ignore the way his hands are going numb with anxiety. To hell with Max’s plans, Terry doesn’t want to tell, Terry doesn’t want everything to end up like _this._

“That was about _my_ mom,” he says unsteadily. “It’s over, Jay, okay? You’re here. You know me. I’m the punk kid who stole your boyfriend, right?”

“Oh,” Jason says, after staring at him for a second. “Oh, uh, hi. McGinnis.” He smiles shakily. “I don’t feel so good.” He shudders. “Can feel it. Hear it, too.” Terry can speak his language. That’s--helpful.

“You hurt yourself a little,” Max says. “Would it help if we patch you up?”

“It’s still in your head, huh?” Terry says around her. “And you can’t take anyone’s word for it when they say it won’t keep happening.” He puts a hand on Jason’s wrist. Bruce looks like a ghost, but Terry isn’t looking at him. “I can hold on,” he tells Jason. “Until it’s gone.”

Jason nods and puts his head back down, but he isn’t fighting or crying anymore. “I left at, uh, kind of a bad point,” he says. “Maybe your super hot friend was really reassuring after I ran away.”

“Damn,” says Max.

“I’m sorry,” Terry says. “I’m so sorry, Jay, you weren’t supposed to hear that, nobody was--” He glances toward Bruce like maybe, if he’s lucky, Bruce is too worried about Jason to notice Terry is there.

Bruce is crouched, staring between the two of them, looking no less horrified and helpless than before.

“I wanted to make sure she helped,” Jason says. “And I wanted to know if you lied.” He nuzzles the floor. “Guess we were right.”

“Max is helping,” Terry says thickly. “Are you okay?”

“Is he okay? Gimme your paw, kid,” Max says. “You’re bleeding.”

“I knew I liked you,” Jason mutters. “S’okay. Just a little scraped up.” He’s not really sure about that. His sense of

“I bet it hurts,” Max says. “But it’s okay. _Hey, Bruce._ Do you happen to know what happened to Jay?”

Bruce clears his throat, looking as if he’s coming back from a great distance. “He. There was broken glass. In the kitchen. And he punched a picture frame.” He smoothes Jason’s hair awkwardly. “I can take care of it.”

Max looks like she about to object, but then says, “Well, yeah, I guess you’d have a lot of practice. Hey, Terry-bear, how about getting you back to bed?”

“No,” Terry says. He’s looking at Jason in a very particular way. _Oh boy._ Max wonders when Bruce is going to snap out of his funk enough to be awkward about it.

“Just stay with me and I’ll stay with you,” Jason says fuzzily. “Please?”

“Okay,” Terry says. “Deal.” He’s still holding on to Jason’s sleeve.

“I’m gonna play with the dog,” Max says. “Or I might clean up the kitchen. One time offer, never to be repeated.”

“Thank you. I’m going to take you to the bathroom and deal with your hand, Jason,” Bruce says. “I’ll get ice, too, Terry.” This part, he can do. He lifts Jason in his arms and Jason doesn’t even complain.

Terry follows along, walking in line with Jason’s feet so they can see each other. He wonders if Bruce will wait until he’s dressed all their wounds before he asks what Terry is hiding.

Bruce doesn’t say anything as he fills the collects the first aid materials from under the sink. He casts Terry a grateful look.

“We’re in great shape,” Terry says weakly. “Definitely in the lead right now.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says quietly.

“What did I do right?” Terry asks. He sits down on the toilet as Jason, perching on the edge of the tub, lets Bruce inspect his hand. At this point there’s no backing out. Terry would rather just get it over with so the next, worse part can begin.

“You pulled Jason out.” Bruce looks at Terry over the top of Jason’s head. “Terry. Talk to me.”

Jason shoots Terry a _sorry, buddy_ look over his shoulder.

Terry looks up at the old, expensive, slightly chipping ceiling tiles. “You’re going to think I’m an idiot.”

“Noted,” Bruce says, but he says it gently.

“I know you can’t win a game with the Joker,” he says. “Still had to try.”

Bruce grits his teeth. It’s what he thought, then. “The rules?” he asks, mindful of Jason.

“Beat the cops to Matt and Mom. Don’t let anyone know I’m looking or getting in their way. They’re safe till you find out or the cops find them.” He pauses to swallow the pain in his face. “He came to the hospital. After I woke up.”

Bruce grimaces, turning on the sink faucet. This sounds exactly like the Joker. He should have guessed immediately. All this time, Terry was alone. “How many times have you seen the Joker since?”

“A few times,” Terry says. He squeezes his eyes shut, and it hurts, but that doesn’t make his eyes prickle any more than Bruce does. “A lot.”

“Damn it,” Bruce says. His whole body is tense, but he doesn’t dare do anything violent in case it makes anything, everything worse. “Terry--Are you--?” But of course Terry’s not all right. Bruce sets his jaw and says, “So we move fast.”

“We have a week,” Terry says. “Probably. And I guess I can—I can go faster, now I won’t be wasting all that time getting in Commissioner Gordon’s way.” He can’t bring himself to look down from the ceiling. Jason isn’t saying anything and Terry feels crappy about it. On top of everything else.

Jason makes a little throat-clearing noise. “I’m still on board,” he says. “Just so you know, McGinnis. Just ‘cause I freaked out and had a panic attack or whatever, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”

Terry tilts his head down. “That’s because you’re an unstoppable badass,” he says. 

Jason grins up at Terry, cocky and hopeful and still _so scared_. “We’ve got this, gorgeous. Right?”

“He’s right,” Bruce says, stopping up the sink. “I promise you, Terry. We’ll do everything in our power.”

“Dick wants to help, too,” Jason adds.

“So that should be okay, then,” Terry says, and wonders for a lurching, dizzy moment if he’s about to end up on the floor like Jason.

Jason reaches over and puts his good hand on Terry’s leg. “Now it’s not just you, at least.”

“Thanks for getting Max,” Terry says.

Jason’s expression clears a little. “Yeah? That was good? Tell her not to call me Little J, though.”

“It’s funny you think I can stop her.” Terry shuts his eyes and wills them to stop rolling around in his head. “Bruce, I actually wouldn’t mind if...”

Bruce’s hand is instantly at the small of Terry’s back, supporting him. “Bed?” he asks.

“Ice?” Terry reminds him. Bed is a good idea, but not his kind of idea.

Bruce mutters a curse. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” He turns off the faucet. “Jason, you need to soak that.” 

Jason sticks his hand in the water and winces. As soon as Bruce is gone, Jason says, “Alone at last,” but he’s so tired and worried that it doesn’t come out cocky.

Terry doesn’t open his eyes. He says, “You okay, Jay? I’m sorry I--You know. Sorry things suck.”

“Me too,” Jason says. He wants to fucking cry again. This isn’t Terry’s fault. “Not okay, but I will be. When we get the one person who _is_ responsible.”

Terry winces. “Can’t do that until the end. Harley’s got her hand on the trigger.”

“Dick will help,” Jason says again, as if Dick is all they need to win.

Terry gets up and sits on the edge of the tub next to Jason, feet on the bathmat, bad side facing Jason. He puts his arm up, across Jason’s collarbone, and hugs his shoulders.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut. “Not crying,” he explains, even though he is.

It takes a couple of tries, but Terry rests his head on Jason’s shoulder, his arm still hugging against his chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “Even if everything sucks.”

“So fucking glad,” Jason says. “I think I’d lose it if I didn’t have--you know. A friend.” He clutches at Terry’s sleeve.

“Terry-bear and his pal Little J?” he jokes. Talking is practically torture, but it’s so much better than silence.

Jason relaxes against Terry. “Man, the kids I used to know would be embarrassed to talk to me now.”

“The short shorts didn’t do it?”

Jason laughs. “Oh, God. If I ever get my head together and get out in the field again, I’m overhauling the costume. No pressure--I can be someone who isn’t Robin.” Terry’s arm is warm against him.

“Mm,” says Terry. He’s not sure how opposed he’ll be to the idea, when it’s not connected to his family’s lives. He doesn’t think he can figure it out now, and it doesn’t feel worth the effort to try. He almost asks whether Jason actually wants to go back to being a sidekick, but again, not worth it. He says, “You’ll get your head together.” He shifts. “Show me your hand now. Let’s see the damage.”

Jason is too drained to bother being difficult about he. He shifts to avoid slipping off the rim of the tub and lets Terry see his hand. “I don’t think it’s too bad,” he says. “A couple bandaids—” Terry’s fingers feel really nice.

“You can stay put,” Terry says firmly. “I can--”

Bruce walks back through the door, a bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in his free hand. He frowns when he sees them, and then tries to act as though he hasn’t. “Maxine is playing with the dog,” he says. Like anyone was asking.

“Call her Max, Bruce, Jesus,” Terry says.

Now Bruce frowns even harder. “Let me find the tweezers,” he says. “Terry, ice. Get back to that toilet if you want, although I’d prefer you to get back to bed.”

“I want that, too,” Jason says. “Bed.” He would totally get in Terry’s bed right now and snuggle up to his side and wind his hands in his shirt--but nobody is going to let that happen, probably.

“Jason,” Bruce says, in that comforting, infuriatingly reasonable way, “you’re still trying to bleed on the linoleum. You’re not going anywhere until that’s no longer the case.”

“After,” Terry says to Jason. He gets up from the side of the tub, and then regrets moving at normal speed. “I’m gonna lie down. But company’s welcome.”

“There you are,” Bruce says, frowning with game discomfort.

“I’ll be there,” Jason says. He gives Terry what he hopes is a jaunty look. “Won’t be long, I promise. I’m really good at having glass taken out of my hands.”

“Take your time,” Terry suggests, and waves a little as he leaves. “Naptime,” he tells Max in passing, and then fails to stop her from escorting him up the stairs and putting him to bed.


	14. you are what you love (not who loves you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: injury/blood, STITCHES in loose detail, emotional discomfort for all, imposter parent feelings

As soon as Terry goes, Bruce says, “That’ll need stitches.” Jason stares at his feet and doesn’t say anything. He’s so worn out he can’t think straight. This used to be his favorite part after a patrol, being exhausted past the point of feeling anything bad, letting Bruce dress his wounds.

“Is everything gonna be okay?” he asks. 

Bruce can’t promise a yes. Jason of all people knows that Bruce doesn’t always beat the clock. Jason of all people can see that Bruce doesn’t know much about recovery.

“We’re going down to the cave,” he says. “The infirmary is better for this.”

Jason bites his tongue and gets up to follow Bruce. They don’t say anything as they pick their way across the bloody floor to the clock. They don’t say anything until Jason is perched on the infirmary table, blinking in the bright light.

Bruce says, “Let me see your hand,” and takes it gently when Jason does. 

“I think we can win,” Bruce says. “I think you’ll be all right.” 

It’s more cowardly than it sounds. He doesn’t know if Terry will be all right, even though Terry is one of the toughest people he’s ever met. He doesn’t think he can admit that out loud.

Jason says, “I know it’s bad.” He lets his hand go lax as Bruce picks out a piece of glass, and he tries to pretend it’s still comforting for Bruce to do this. “I’m gonna stick with Terry till he comes through this.”

Bruce sets down the tweezers. “Do you need to be numb?” he asks. Jason winces.

“You know I hate the shot worse than the needle,” he says. Bruce nods, finding the suture kit.

“I’m--glad you’ve gotten close to Terry,” he says. “I haven’t--I don’t always know what to say. It seems like you do.”

“Terry and I have both gotten pretty lucky, there,” Jason says, one hand pressing firm against the other. _Holy shit, is this what his relationship with Bruce is actually_ supposed _to be like?_ Because this is definitely more normal. Even if it’s still Bruce. 

“We mesh,” Jason adds, as Bruce takes his hand. “We get each other. And he’s cute as hell. Ow!”

“Sorry,” Bruce says. “Let me know if you change your mind about the anaesthetic. Jay—”

“Yeah?” Jason hisses as casually as he can.

“I know I’ve been...cautious about your identity,” Bruce says. “Since you came back. But I wanted to tell you that I don’t have any doubt that you’re--you. I’ve seen the results so far, but that’s not...Well. Let’s just say I can tell.” He grins. “The only suspicious part is your temper.”

“What?” Jason demands.

“You’re not angry enough.”

Jason laughs. “Do you want me to break the _rest_ of your vintage wine-glasses?” He feels better. They’re still _friends._

“ _No_ , I think that’s enough of that,” Bruce says. “And I’d rather you didn’t call them vintage. I bought them new.” He frowns at Jason’s hand. “One more. Keep it relaxed. This one will hurt.”

“Used to it,” Jason says, but he digs his free hand into the table, ready to keep himself quiet.

Bruce doesn’t let his hands waver. The stitch goes in, efficient and smooth. _Used to it._ Is that the only thing Bruce gives them for a legacy? A higher tolerance for pain?

Jason hisses out through his teeth, then gives Bruce a blinding smile. “There. No harm done and good as new. However good _that_ was.”

“Mm-hm,” Bruce says. He snips off the suture and wraps Jason’s hand. “Be careful with that. Don’t get it wet for a few days.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jason moves his hand badly, and winces. “Hey, you know Terry better than I do. What chills him out when he’s stressed?”

Bruce snorts. “He doesn’t stress. And no, I’m not being obtuse. You didn’t see him at sixteen stealing a batsuit to chase down justice for his murdered father, all like it was nothing. He might have been a Robin, but he never even gave me the chance to offer.”

Jason takes a deep breath. Wow. Terry is so hot and friendly and sharp and--”Okay. Well, let’s get him through this, then. I want to get to know his super cool Terry self.”

Bruce gives him the eye. “I noticed.”

“Not sorry,” Jason tells him. At least now that Terry and Bruce are broken up. He leans forward and gives Bruce’s arm a squeeze to let him know they’re okay. “I get all the cuties who like bad boys.”

“Hmm,” Bruce says.

“It’s okay to calm down about it, I swear,” Jason says. “Like no one you’ve worked with has ever made out before.”

“Obviously,” Bruce says. “Don’t think I’ve somehow missed Tim and Dick. But still--’cutie’?”

“Every cutie,” Jason says deliberately. “Yeah, even you. But Terry—he’s definitely boyfriend material, if we don’t all die or get fucked up for life.”

Bruce smiles. “Be nice to him,” he says.

That hurts a little, but it’s fair. “I’m gonna try really hard.”

Bruce clears his throat. “Don’t let him hurt your feelings, either, by being too...cool.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on, I can handle weirdos with weird emotions, Bruce.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bruce says. “Terry and I--We share a workaholic’s distance. If you want normal, don’t let him keep that distance.” He sighs.

“Don’t worry,” Jason says. “I’m listening to the advice. But nobody can manage to be distant with me.”

“Hmm,” Bruce says. “Upstairs.”

Jason hops off the table as Bruce tidies away behind him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Gonna go find Terry, I think.”

Bruce straightens up. “Jay—I want you to understand what I meant when I said I didn’t want you to be a murderer.”

Jason waits.

“I didn’t mean I wouldn’t see the Joker dead.”

He goes upstairs ahead, and leaves Jason with that to think about.

Jason trots to catch up. Is it possible that Bruce really isn’t too old and stubborn to change? Is he finally sick of seeing people hurt, or is it just a combination of the right people at the right time? _I wonder._

Whatever else, it’s a window of terrifying opportunity, and Jason intends to take it. He remembers too much, and he saw the way Terry looked earlier.

He wouldn’t mind being a murderer.

~

Terry isn’t asleep when Jason checks in, although he probably should be. 

“Hey,” Terry says with a little wave. He looks anxious and exhausted and deeply relieved.

“Everyone is still in one piece,” Bruce informs him. “I even brought you this.” He gestures to Jason. “Now, _sleep_.” He departs, shutting the door behind him.

“Hi,” Jason says. There are dark shadows under his eyes, but he feels weirdly elated. “I’m getting in your bed, if that’s cool.” He maneuvers over to Terry’s bedside and topples gently next to him.

“Well, I was gonna say no,” says Terry dryly, keeping his mouth as still as possible. “Hey, your hand’s a paw.”

“Just a little cut, I swear,” Jason says. “I’m okay. I--think we’re gonna be okay.” It seems urgent to let Terry know, even if Jason has no evidence to back up his claim.

“Right outta the gate,” Terry murmurs. “Hey. Honestly. This tragic past thing, all a ploy to get in bed with me, right?”

“Oh yeah. And I won,” Jason says. “I’m a winner.” He gives Terry his nicest smile and a kiss on the forehead.

Terry blinks at him. It’s surprisingly soulful, so kind of funny. “I think I like the other kind too.”

“You think,” Jason says, but he’s not going to pass up the chance. He kisses Terry on the mouth, careful not to jostle him.

Terry kisses him back, briefly and gingerly. He puts his hand on Jason’s elbow. When he breaks off, his hand slips to Jason’s sleeve. “Okay,” Terry says. “That was nice. Thanks.”

“I’m proud,” Jason says. He bumps his nose against Terry’s. “Not everyone could have the day you just had _and_ kiss a confusingly hot guy.”

“Batman,” Terry reminds him. He sighs. “I’m Batman. Really should sleep.”

“This is gonna be one of those things where we sleep together a lot, isn’t it?” Jason asks. “I’m okay with that. Just saying.” Terry is so strong and brave, and Jason is going to take goddamn good care of him.

“Go play with Max and Ace,” Terry suggests, and then stifles a yawn because yawning is _painful._.

“Can’t, I’m _hurt_ ,” Jason says, snuggling against Terry. He tries to rest his arm in about ten places before he finds one that doesn’t hurt his hand. “Think you can sleep now? ‘Cause everything else can wait.”

“Think so,” Terry says. His eyes are already half shut. 

Jason breathes in. This day has been terrifying and disorienting, but Jason can’t find any more fear. He and Bruce talked to each other and got it right. Terry is here, and warm, and letting Jason hold him. They have a lot of friends and a lot of help. 

“Night, Terry,” he whispers, kissing Terry’s head. He can’t find a place to put his hand, and it takes a long time for the buoyant feeling in his chest to settle—but when it does, he sleeps well.

~

Bruce leaves Jason and Terry to their business, which he decides not to think on too deeply. The stairs down punish him a little for all the heavy lifting, but he still speeds up halfway, because he hears voices in the front hall. Max, Dick, Steph. They’re trying to get in, and Max doesn’t seem sure if she should let them or not.

“Bruce!” Max and Steph say at the same time as soon as he comes down. “Where the _hell_ have you all been?” Steph demands as Max stands aside and folds her arms. “You’d think somebody had died, looking at this place!”

“We’ve been here,” Bruce says, retrieving his cane from the floor. 

"I was looking for a broom or something," Max says.

"That's fine." Someone _should_ probably deal with the blood, to be fair. Bruce frowns at Steph. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I was looking for Terry,” Steph says. “But I couldn’t get an answer. Like, ten times. He’s okay, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce says. He tries not to let on how invaded he feels.

“Come on, Bruce,” Dick says. “We know that’s not true.”

“I saw him get hurt,” Steph says. “I want to know he’s taken care of.” Her opinion of Bruce’s caretaking abilities is low at the best of times, since Tim, and Terry’s been having a rough time for a while, even without this--new information in mind.

Bruce’s frown deepens. “Maybe you’d like to sit.” 

“Maybe so,” Dick says. He remembers his last visit. All the necessity in the world can’t put him in a good mood about being here again so soon.

Bruce seats them in one of the parlors, Max perching on the arm of a chair.

“So?” Bruce says gruffly.

Steph says, “So, about Terry. How is he? And don’t say fine.”

Bruce clears his throat. “Resting,” he says. “He had an--incident last night. Which apparently you witnessed. You may as well tell me how.”

“I followed him,” Steph says, defiant. “I saw the Joker attack him.”

“I see,” Bruce says. “I won’t ask why you didn’t intercede--”

“She had no choice!” Dick says indignantly.

“-- _or_ why you were there at all, but I will tell you that the need for subterfuge is over. Terry told me he made a deal with the Joker. I want you to help me end it.” He furrows his eyebrows. “With his permission, of course.”

Steph lets out a relieved breath. “Wow. Okay. Good. Because that’s what were going to do anyway.”

Max is frowning. “How?” she asks.

“Without the Joker knowing, obviously,” Dick says.

“Yes and no,” Bruce says. “If I thought we could make him believe that Terry put us off after last night--but he won’t buy it. Some of what we do should be in the open. According to his rules, we have a week to act in the open or he kills the McGinnises.” He pauses. “Assuming, of course, that he doesn’t change the rules.”

“But he will,” Steph says. “And there’s no way to predict how. What’s his endgame? Does he even know? Does he care how this ends, as long as it hurts you?”

“Probably not,” Bruce says at last. “But I don’t know why he’s in Gotham. I don't know why he's alive. We need to know how he _and_ Jason got here. And Barbara should know that Terry has been throwing a wrench in the works of her investigation.”

“So we’re bringing everyone in,” Steph says. “Except Tim.”

Bruce has the nerve not to look ashamed—but at least, Dick thinks, he doesn’t argue the point.

Bruce nods. “And we try to beat him at his game.”

“For once,” Dick says.

“We’re all in on it and nobody’s working at cross purposes,” Steph says.

“We're on the same page,” Bruce says. “I promised.”

"Promised what?" Dick says.

"I promised Jason and Terry," Bruce says. "That the Joker would die."

Steph blinks. “You mean that?” She’s--a little angry.

“Yes,” Bruce says.

“ _Now,”_ says Steph slow. “But not before.”

“Yes,” Bruce says again. 

_He never gives an inch,_ Dick thinks. But he doesn’t interrupt, because he still finds it harder than Steph to try and _make_ Bruce give.

“Not when he shot Dick,” Steph says, stonefaced. “Not when he beat Jason to death. And you can barely look at Tim, the person who _did_ do it. Guess Terry must be _amazing_ in bed.”

“ _Hey,”_ Max says sharply.

“I don’t have to explain,” Bruce tells Steph. “I already apologized. No one is asking you to be grateful.”

“Good,” Steph says flatly. “Then let’s move on to something useful.” Maybe it wasn’t _useful_ for her to call him out, but Bruce needed to hear it. Or at least Steph needed him to. Bruce hasn’t had to see how Tim’s been for the last month and a half.

“Yes,” Bruce agrees, as though Steph’s anger doesn’t even phase him. “First of all, your family. Damian and Cassandra should be removed to safety.” He doesn’t say, _And Tim_ , because Steph has made him obstinate.

“Damian and Cassandra?” Max asks.

“The kids,” says Dick. 

“Cute name,” Max says. “I sat next to a kid on the train named Damian.” 

There’s a pause. Then Steph says, “What did he look like?”

“Black hair, short, really cranky. Not white." She eyes Steph and Dick. "Probably nine or ten.”

“ _No,”_ Dick says. He’s on his feet, his phone already in his hand. “Cass and Damian, school,” he tells it, striding out of the room.

“Maxine arrived this morning,” Bruce says. “He could have gone straight home, he could have followed you here.”

“Damian in Gotham is the last thing we want,” Steph says tightly. She is not going to panic. “Tim would have called if he’d come home.”

“As far as we know, the Joker doesn’t even know Damian exists,” Bruce says. “He’s new. That won’t last, though, especially if the children are _here.”_

Dick’s voice booms in from the hallway. “I know you think my son is in class, but I’m asking you to _please check anyway.”_ A pause. “ _Yes, this is Mr. Drake.”_

“We should search the grounds,” Bruce says. “He’s picked up a lot of his parents’ tricks.”

“I can take Ace and look,” Max suggests. “He’s got a dog nose, and I’ve got good eyes.” 

Steph casts a worried glance toward the hallway. “Better do that. Thank you.”

Bruce frowns. “Maxine,” he starts.

“Max,” she says, getting to her feet. “Max is my name. And you’re not my boss.”

“Max, then. Do take the dog.”

“Oh, he's _not,"_ Dick says. “You ought to keep a better eye on your students, for what we pay you! Now just tell me you haven’t lost my daughter as well!" There's a pause, and then he booms, " _I don’t want to hear the word delinquent._ Yes, you check, and then _I'll_ tell you who's delinquent!"

Dick makes an alarmingly good parent, Bruce thinks, better than anything Bruce has been.

Max gets up to rouse Ace, and Steph leans into the other room to mouth, “Need help?” to Dick. Dick shakes his head, though he looks grateful; the shouting is mostly show.

Cass has to be in class, Steph thinks. If both the kids are missing, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to keep from panicking.

“I’ll call Barbara,” says Bruce.

“Great,” Steph says, as he heads to the cave. She means that. Barbara is the only one of them she really trusts.

Dick’s eyes follow Bruce as he goes past. Dick says, “Yes? Yes? Well, yes, you _will_ call me back when the police arrive.” He hangs up on the principal and dials another number. When the call picks up, Dick hits the speaker. “Cass," he says, "where _are_ you? Please say you just skipped class.”

Cassie says into the air. “Dick?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dick says. “Where are you?"

"On a train," Cass says.

“Have to get Damian. He ran off.” She pauses. “I want to catch him before dad knows.”

“Steph!” Dick says.

“Let me talk to her!” Steph says, taking the phone. She takes it off speaker. “Cassie, where did your brother go?”

“Home, probably?” Cassie says. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

“No,” Steph snaps, “ _Stay put._ ”

“I’m on a train,” Cassie says patiently. Trains move. “What’s wrong?”

Steph hesitates. Cass maybe be abrupt and untalkative, but she’s still young enough to be easily scared. “Trouble in Gotham. I was going to send you two on a trip with dad. I didn’t know you were coming our way.”

Cassie is quiet for a few seconds. “A trip?”

“I was thinking about it,” Steph says.

“We weren't in Gotham,” Cassie observes. 

Steph grips the phone until her hand hurts. “Yeah,” she says. That’s the problem. There’s never a time when it’s better to lie to Cass. Steph should remember that twelve isn’t the same as stupid. “I don’t think you and Damian are in danger, but I don’t know. We don’t want to risk it.”

“Why don’t we all go?” Cassie asks. “Batman...”

“Even Batman needs a hand sometimes,” Steph says. Tim wouldn’t like her to talk to Cass about this, but then, Tim wouldn’t like Steph to be in Gotham doing this at all.

“You’re _helping?_ ” Cassie says. “Bet Dad’s mad.”

“Hon,” Steph says, “we can find Damian ourselves. I don’t want you out there alone. And don’t tell dad yet.” She gives Dick a helpless look.

“I’m on a _train_ ,” Cassie says again. Trains go one way. And then the question Steph dreads, because Cassie asks every time, since Tim got sick. “Mom. Is it the Joker?”

If Steph even pauses for too long, perceptive, perfect Cassandra will know. By the time she thinks that, it’s already too late. “Yeah,” Steph admits. “That’s why I want you to be extra careful.”

“Oh,” Cassie says. She sounds hurt. “I’m careful,” she adds. To one side of the conversation, Dick’s mouth goes wide and flat.

Steph takes a deep breath. “Dick and I are taking care of it.” She always tells Cass she’s taking care of Tim, too, but look how often that means nothing.

“I’ll get Damian,” Cass says. “We can take dad somewhere nice.” She means safe. _Nice_ is for Steph’s benefit, because Steph is upset.

Steph squeezes her eyes shut, painfully grateful. “Deal,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you taking care of things with me.”

“Train’s stopping,” Cass says. “I’ll be there in an hour. You can meet me?”

“I’ll be there,” Steph says. She hears the train pulling into the station in the background, which reminds her. “Don’t jump off while it’s still moving, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you,” Steph says. “Bye.” She hangs up and looks at Dick. “That is one perfect child.”

Dick smiles back helplessly. “Like her mom and dad. Is it okay that she knows?”

Steph nods. “She would have guessed. And she can handle it.” Steph hates that Cassie has to handle it, but of the four of them, Steph thinks she’s actually been the most help to Tim.

“When it rains,” Dick says. “But Damian--”

The front door opens.

“ _Damian!”_ Steph says. “I can’t believe you found him, _thank you_.” Usually no one can find Damian if he wants to be hidden.

“It was mostly Ace,” Max says, but she looks pleased.

“Dumb dog,” Damian says, scowling. Ace is aloof.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Dick says.

“I don’t have to talk to _you_ ,” Damian answers. He holds his fingers out for Ace to sniff, which seems to be a balm to his dog pride.

“Well, you have to talk to me,” Steph says. “Everyone was worried, including your sister. Dick talked to your school--What _are_ you doing here?”

“I called dad and he was upset,” Damian says. He gives Dick the evil eye. “I bet it was _him_ doing something bad. He’s always sneaking around.”

Dick tries and fails at not looking wounded.

Steph grits her teeth. “He doesn’t _sneak_. And it’s not about Dick.” She hesitates. Lying to Damian is sometimes a good choice. If she can play this off as a continuation of the trouble Tim’s been having, maybe she can get Damian to go with him somewhere safe. “You know your dad hasn’t been doing well for the past few weeks. What did he say, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” says Damian disgustedly. “He just kept telling me everything is _normal_. And _no_.” He pats Ace’s head with hard little thumps.

“Okay,” Steph says, “Damian, I know you don’t believe that it’s dangerous to go out on your own, but I’m going to remind you. This is Gotham. What do you think would happen to us if you got hurt?” No version of this lecture has ever worked.

“I won’t get hurt,” Damian says. “I’d hurt ‘em first.”

“No,” says Dick, “if someone tries to hurt you, you _run away_ and tell us. Only fight if there’s no other choice.”

“You’re just scared I’d beat you,” Damian says, which is unfortunately close to true. “What’s going on?”

“If you don’t tell the little monster something, he’s going to hop on a train again,” Max says, appreciatively enough that Steph doesn’t mind.

She tries to remember herself at ten. Could she have handled any part of what happened to Tim, and Jason, and Terry? Especially if it was her dad? She doesn’t know. She knows how she handled it when he died. But Damian still surprises her with what he can and can’t cope with. She can decide what to do; she just wishes she’d had time to discuss it with Tim and Dick.

“Okay,” she says, glancing at Dick. “Why don’t we have a talk in private, Damian?”

“Deal,” Damian says right away, eyeing Dick. “I wanna go to a cool part of the house.”

It would be almost hilarious to take him to the cave. He and Bruce would tear each other apart, in these moods. But Steph takes him to what used to be Tim’s room. It’s not locked, maybe—Steph winces when she opens the door—because it’s completely cleaned out of all personal belongings. 

“All right,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed with Damian. “There’s someone trying to hurt some of our friends.” No, she has to do better. “You remember the Joker?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Damian says obviously. “But he’s dead.” He remembers when things got weird with dad a few years ago. Kind of. They wouldn't tell him everything then, either. He remembers, though, that the Joker is supposed to be dead.

“Not anymore,” Steph says. She never wants to make the kids feel unsafe, but they’re _not_ safe.

“Oh,” Damian says. He thinks about it. “Batman should just kill him, then. That’s what I would do.”

Damian’s morals have never been quite what his parents would like, and Steph isn’t sure if that’s due to his life before he was adopted or just because that’s who he is. “Mm,” she says. “Well, whatever happens, it’s not safe for you and your dad to be here.”

“You want me to go take care of him?” Damian says, and it’s not to tell if he means Tim or the Joker.

Steph squeezes his hand. “I want you, dad, and Cass to take a trip while Dick and I make sure it’s safe for you to come back.”

Damian scowls, but he doesn’t disagree. “Where’s stupid old Batman, then?” he says. “Isn’t that his job?”

“Sometimes Batman doesn’t work alone,” Steph says. “He just needs a hand. A few Robins.”

“Sure, okay,” says Damian. “I’d do it all by myself. Where is Batman _now?_ ” He looks around like maybe Batman is hiding in the bedroom. He might mean Bruce and he might mean Terry--sometimes he gets them mixed up.

“Terry got hurt,” Steph says. “And Bruce is calling the cops--partly to find you, by the way.” She pauses. “Terry got hurt by the Joker. The Joker has hurt a lot of people, like Dick and your dad and their friend Jason.” Simplified, but she can’t stop and finesse it. “And he hurt Terry’s family, too. Do you understand why we’re worried? It’s not because you’re weak.”

Damian swallows. He’s not so sure about Dick or his dad (or any _friend_ ), but Terry is actually pretty tough. Damian thought maybe he was just being lazy, or a wimp.

“Is Terry gonna be sick a long time?” he asks. The Joker made dad really sick. He adds seriously, “I can be Batman if he can’t handle it.”

Steph pulls Damian into a hug. “Dad would ground you for life. I think Terry will get better, hon. He’s a little banged up, but--” She can’t talk to a ten-year-old, even Damian, about PTSD. “But he’s got good friends, just like dad,” she finishes.

“Okay,” Damian says. “I’m glad he’s all right. He’s an okay Batman.” He frowns. “I left Cassie at school. We better get her before she does something dumb. She can help me take care of dad.”

Steph sighs. “She’s on a train. You can’t leave her places, Damian, she’ll just come get you.”

Damian scowls. “It’s like she thinks I don’t know how to handle stuff because she’s a _little_ bit older.”

“Maybe she just knows that you don’t think about your options as carefully as she does,” Steph says, ruffling his hair. “Thanks for thinking this time, kiddo.”

“Whatever,” Damian says, pushing her hand away. “Let’s go get dad and dumb old Cassie.”

“Great,” Steph says. “And let’s just hope Dick can handle dumb old Bruce.”

“Doesn’t Bruce want to see me?” Damian asks, with an evil little grin. He knows Bruce can’t _stand_ him. He doesn’t know why, but he uses it for all it’s worth.

“He’s busy,” Steph says. “Too many guests without you picking fights.” She goes back out to Dick and Max, and gives Dick a reassuring smile. “All good,” she says.

“I’m _always_ good,” Damian says, crossing his arms.

“Of course you are,” Dick says, which is either grown-up sarcasm or a pathetic attempt to make Damian like the life-ruiner. Damian doesn’t remember that much before Dick happened, but remembers it was _better_.

“Mm,” Steph says. “Well, Damian and I have to go meet Cass soon. You should let Bruce and the school know we found Damian.”

“You’re leaving me here with the old man?” Dick says. “Thanks so much.” He doesn’t seem to really resent it, though. He starts to lean over for a kiss, eyes Damian, and gives Damian’s head a pat instead. “Check in, okay?” he tells them both. “Give hugs to Cass and dad.” In case they’re gone a long time and he doesn’t get to. In case--Well, the Joker is tough.

Steph squeezes his arm, leans in, and says in a low voice, “I know we’re moving faster than we thought. We’ll have to tell Tim something to make any of this okay.”

Damian’s tough expression slips. “Daddy--dad’s okay, though, right? The Joker won’t get ‘im?”

“He’s okay,” Steph says, steel in her voice. “We just don’t want him to worry too much.”

Damian nods. “Good. Can we go now?”

“You bet,” says Steph.

~

“Let me fill you in,” Dick says into the cave. It’s a good idea to announce yourself, here, so Bruce doesn’t attack you. Dick proceeds with caution until Bruce is visible. “Damian was here, Cassie’s on a train here, Steph’s got one of them and they’re picking up the other at the station. Has Barbara made a move?” He hopes the Joker doesn’t notice everything they’re doing _here_.

“Not yet,” Bruce says. He doesn’t feel comfortable with Dick in the cave. “But she’s not happy about waiting on us, either. I don’t think she trusts us to do it right.”

“Which kind of right? Permanently, safely, or by the book?”

“Safely,” Bruce says grimly. “She doesn’t think I know which risks to take.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to you,” Dick says.

Bruce stiffens. He had meant not to fight Dick this time, about anything, mostly as a favor to Jason. “I’m still in charge here,” he says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dick says, not even combative, just tired and right and old enough that Bruce can’t _always_ get to him. “Why, because the Joker still has a thing for you? The only one you’re nominally still in charge of is Terry, and I think he’s a little beyond toeing the line.”

Bruce fumes, but he knows it’s true. “Barbara should know about the children. What do you say _you_ call her back?” That seems vindictive enough.

Dick decides not to lose his temper. “All right,” he says. “Can I use your seat or should I take this outside? And in the meantime, maybe you can go talk to Terry’s friend. She seems at loose ends.”

“Hm,” Bruce says. “I’ll see if she wants something to do. Here.” He offers Dick his chair, moving stiffly.

For a moment Dick doesn’t even take the seat, too startled that it’s happening at all. Then, “Okay,” he says, sitting. “Thanks. Maybe call her by the right name.”

Bruce winces almost imperceptibly. “I’m trying.”

“I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who accepts _I tried real hard_ ,” Dick says. “But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I--” Was there ever a time Bruce and Dick could communicate? “Yes. Probably.” Bruce grips the bannister. “Dick...I’m glad you’re here.” As Dick’s startled glance meets him, he adds, “After we get Terry’s family back, I might want some advice from you and Steph. About—handling people who—about...trauma.”

“What?” Dick says unguardedly, in the middle of trying to put Barbara back on the line.

Bruce clears his throat. “Terry has obviously not been well, but Jason--Jason spent the morning smashing my glassware because he thought he was dying in Ethiopia.” He makes a sound like laughing. It’s the closest he’ll come to saying _help._

“Oh,” Dick says. “Jay. Of course.” He swallows. “He did seem too plucky to be real last time. Sad, but plucky. Are they--Is this--” He tries again. “I hope it helps that they’re not alone.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, not bitterly. “This was a good time for Jason to come back. But it won’t matter if we fail them both.”

“Fair enough,” Dick says. “Okay. The commissioner is on hold. That seems rude. I’ll talk to you later, Bruce.”

Bruce sees himself out as Barbara’s voice blares out from the speakers. Dick wonders if the chair is making him instantly more like Batman. He might get up, in a minute, here. If it keeps happening.


	15. burn everything you love (then burn the ashes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: gendered language, Jason should be better about bisexuality, explosions, aftermath of recuperable injury

Jason wakes up with a start just as Terry is starting to get a sense of where he is and how to open his eyes.

“God!” Jason says. “We really did go to sleep.”

“Looks like morning,” Terry mumbles in agreement. 

“We should find out what’s going on, right?” Jason says.

“Yeah,” Terry says. He ignores the swimming feeling in his head and the ache in his jaw and the sinking, limb-numbing fear that’s creeping up on him with thoughts of failure, and he gets out of bed. “Can you--maybe give me a second to change?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Jason says. “How about I get the lay of the land?”

“Report back,” Terry jokes. He thinks maybe he’ll just change his underwear and put some pants on and then crawl back into bed until Jason comes to get him.

Jason gives Terry’s head a pat, with his good hand, and goes to find Bruce. The kitchen is always his first target, so he makes his way there.

But no luck. Bruce is in the cave--already, Jason thinks, but the truth is he probably hasn’t left. He looks more than usually grim when Jason finds him, and it takes a second too long for him to look up from his screens. 

“Jason,” Bruce says. “You’re looking all right.”

“Hand hurts like hell,” Jason says. “And I feel like I slept for a week. What now?” He perches on the edge of the computer bank, careful not to prop himself up by his palm.

“You didn’t sleep for a week,” Bruce says. He glares in the direction of the computer. “You slept overnight. But we had a discussion while you and Terry were—resting.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “We _were_ resting. Who’s we?”

Bruce clears his throat. “Maxine is here, of course. Dick and Steph came to tell me that she saw the attack on Terry. We told Barbara that Terry’s been obstructing her.” He frowns. “And Tim and Steph’s son was here, briefly. I believe he ran away from school to prove that Dick is an evil monster.”

“Uh, Dick is _perfect_ ,” Jason says. “Wait, the Robin who came after me has _kids_? Seriously?”

“They’re adopted,” Bruce says. Jason shrugs.

“I’m still kind of stuck on the part where he’s not completely gay,” Jason says. “And apparently Dick isn’t either?” Being gay is kind of a qualification for being Robin.

“Always black and white with you,” Bruce says, not approvingly. 

“I just don’t get having sex with girls, honestly,” Jason says, mostly to be obnoxious. “Didn’t mean to unleash a tide of bisexual defensiveness, though.” He grins. “Now I’ll bet you really miss me.”

“Hm,” says Bruce. 

Jason lets it sit for only a few seconds, before he says, “Hey, seriously, though—am I part of this mission?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says, after a moment. “Your origin is still a mystery, and your moods--” He stops, trying hard not to be completely insensitive. “What happened to you before was extremely traumatic. I don’t want you to push yourself so hard you can’t recover.”

Jason makes himself take a deep breath, and swallows his anger. He looks at the suits in the case. “I don’t think it’s really about protecting me,” he says. “If it was, you wouldn’t ever let any of us do anything. I want to help. Terry gets to help.”

Bruce doesn’t say that if he had his way, Terry would be finished, too. He says, “You asked. I thought you might want an opinionated answer.”

“I’ll see what _Batman_ says,” Jason suggests. “Anyway, what about Tim? You didn’t mention him. Is he not up for helping?”

Bruce says, “Tim is why I _have_ an opinion.”

Jason feels the anger flare up again. He’d thought he might have burned through it by now. He says, “Guess I’m a little tougher than Tim.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruce snaps. Jason recoils slightly. “If you won’t listen to sense and you won’t take care of yourself when you’ve got the chance, fine. But I won’t listen to anymore of your uninformed vitriol. You don’t know Tim Drake. Maybe you wouldn’t like him if you did. But he’s not the person you’re angry at, so leave him _alone.”_

“I—Sorry,” Jason says. It’s easy to forget that someone who is just an abstract concept to Jason is someone Bruce loved just as much as any of them. He sighs and hops gingerly off the desk. “Sorry, Bruce. I’m just--is this going to work at all? Or are we going to completely fuck it up?”

Bruce says, “I refuse to fail.” 

There’s something specific in Bruce’s voice that catches Jason’s breath. He remembers what he hates about Bruce, and what he loves, but he had forgotten, until this moment, what being afraid of Bruce was like. He doesn’t ever know whether to trust him for it or to be horrified by his fanaticism.

He shrugs, and says, “You’re the boss. No failing.”

Bruce doesn’t tell Jason how much Dick would hate to hear him say that. He says, “Is Terry in one piece this morning?”

“He’s sore,” Jason says. He recognizes the potential for innuendo too late. Let it go. “He’s scared, too. I mean, obviously, it’s his family.”

“I know,” Bruce says. He shifts. “Tim is going to take his children out of Gotham until this is over. Steph and Dick think that will be safer. What do you think?”

Jason almost parrots Bruce’s question back at him, because _what?_ Did Bruce just ask his opinion? Okay, maybe Bruce really is capable of change. Or he was _that_ obsessed with Jason while he was dead. “I agree,” he says. “Does the Joker know about the kids?”

“How would we know?” Bruce asks. “He’ll know by now about Damian anyway. He must be watching us in some capacity, and Damian was here with Steph and Dick last night.”

Jason opens his mouth to ask how the hell the Joker would know to watch them _here_ \--but he can tell that would go badly, and he doesn’t really want to know how it happened.

“They should get out fast,” Jason says. “The Joker won’t leave Gotham. He never--” _Ethiopia,_ Jason reminds himself. “Well, he hardly ever does that. He won’t distract himself from his goal. Which is you and the people closest to you, which doesn’t really include your ex’s kids.” He doesn’t _know_ about Tim and Bruce, but he’s assuming. Ex-whatever.

Bruce says, “He always uses _you_ to get to _me.”_ He looks away. “I don’t think Tim has any deeper fear than his children being put through what he was.”

Jason swallows. “Then I hope they leave. Listen, I’m gonna shower and get Terry.”

Bruce nods. “We’ll have guests soon. Be ready.” 

“Can’t wait,” Jason says. 

As he’s walking up the stairs, he decides that’s true. He wants to see Dick and Barbara as much as he can, and he wants to meet Steph. It’s just too bad the circumstances are past Jason’s limit for shitty-but-fun. He goes to take a shower before he bugs Terry again. Might as well give him a few more minutes to relax.

~

When there’s a knock on his door, Terry rolls out of bed and answers with his serious face on, but in all honesty he is putting most of his effort into not throwing up.

“Hey,” he says. “You cleaned up. Guess I’m the disgrace of the party.” He is actually pretty filthy, and probably a shower would help with everything. “Did you find Bruce?”

Jason nods. “He’s in war-council mode. Dick and Steph and Babs and everyone are coming to help. Did you know Tim Drake had _babies?_ ”

“Sure,” Terry says. “Cassie and Damian. Cute. Remind me of Matt.”

Jason says, “Drake’s taking ‘em away from Gotham, I guess. Going somewhere safe.”

“Why were they _in_ Gotham?” Terry says. 

Jason sighs. “I guess they followed their mom? Kids, man.” Actually, the kids sound like people Jason would like a lot. He hopes they all get to hang out when nobody’s life is in danger.

“No,” says Terry, pushing past him. “They’re on his radar. Shouldn’t be alone.”

“They’re with Drake...” Jason says, but Terry’s right. That’s way worse. If the Joker catches the three of them alone, they’ll be defenseless. “Uh, listen, you shower. I’m going to--fix things.”

“No,” Terry says. He starts downstairs without waiting for an answer. Jason keeps up well enough to see him wave a greeting at Max, but he goes straight down to the cave and lets the clock swing shut behind him. Batman. One hundred percent Batman.

~

Bruce is deep in thought at the computer, but he turns around as soon as Terry comes in. “There you are,” he says. He even offers Terry a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Terry says. “Tim and the kids need to come here.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “I agree. I thought you’d think so. But convincing Tim to set foot in this house will be hard, and we don’t have much time.” The kids will come happily, if for no other reason than to torment Bruce.

Terry shrugs. “I can talk to Dick. Maybe if he and Steph can convince Tim.” He puts it straight onto the list he’s been retallying constantly since he woke up in the hospital: stop Tim, hide the kids, come clean to the cops, find Harley, stop the Joker, watch out for Jason, don’t let Max feel ignored, don’t throw up.

Bruce narrows his eyes, watching Terry’s thought process. “McGinnis. You’re not in this alone, remember. There’s no point having all of these _sidekicks_ if you don’t let them help.” 

“Yeah,” Terry says. “How about if I let you all get killed, instead?” He sighs and stretches his shoulders back until his spine pops. “Okay. I’ll be a team player. First I gotta get this two-day-old Joker grease out of my hair.”

“Good boy,” Bruce says.

“I know, right?” Terry says. He waves as he heads back up the stairs. 

Relief hits Bruce hard in the chest. He has let himself get fatalistic during the night, but Terry’s still here, and he’s still Terry. They might be okay.

~

After Terry has left, Bruce goes upstairs. He finds Max and Jason eating breakfast. 

“I’ve called the others,” he says. “I’m assuming you’ll both attempt to join in, despite my reservations.”

“Obviously,” Max says.

“I said,” Jason says, around a mouthful of cereal. “I’ll be useful to have around. I’m ready this time.” 

“Hm,” says Bruce. He hasn’t had any coffee in the last several hours, but there _is_ some in the pot. He thinks about the costs and benefits of a fresh cup. “Well, I won’t stop you.”

“Can’t, anyway,” Jason mutters, but he doesn’t want to waste his fight on Bruce. “So, hey, if we _can_ get Tim here, is there anything I should, you know, say? Or not say?”

“I can think of a lot of things you probably shouldn’t say but will anyway,” Max says.

“Just don’t,” Bruce starts. Then he realizes that _he_ doesn’t know how to talk with Tim. How is he supposed to tell Jason what works? “He’s--”

Bruce feels suddenly, intensely sad that Jason will never know the Tim who came to find him after Jason died. He was so confident and smart and methodical. His enthusiasm plucked Bruce right out of the pit where he’d lost himself, and it wasn’t like with the others, but it was good--better, probably, in some ways he would rather not confront--and now he and Tim can’t look at each other too often because Tim had a breaking point and it’s Bruce’s fault they found it.

“Oooor I can ask Dick,” Jason says. “Or figure it out myself. Or, crazy thought, I can ask Tim.” Tim can’t be completely humorless if he managed to work with Bruce.

“I wonder,” Bruce says. “Tim is over Batman. But he _may_ still be a Jason Todd fan.”

“Heh,” Jason says. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to him and find out.”

“I hope you do,” Bruce says. He pours himself a cup of coffee without asking if it’s free for the taking.

“How’s Terry?” Max asks.

“He’ll do fine,” Bruce says. “So long as the excess of support doesn’t throw him off balance.”

Max nods. “He’s not used to having so much help. But we can’t let him go it alone, either. Isn’t it your job to check up on him?”

“I’ll do my best,” Bruce says. He’s not so sure how to handle crowds himself, these days.

“We can do this,” Jason says. “We’re good at this kind of thing. Gotham used to have tons of us running around.”

“I didn’t like working with them, either,” Bruce mutters. Jason almost says, _Even Superman?_ before he remembers and swallows the words, unnerved.

“I can check Terry out,” he says quickly.

“I don’t need checking out.” Terry is at the doorway. Ace is still with him, looking steamed. “Is that coffee? When are they coming?”

“Bruce is a coffee-thief, but I’ll make more,” Jason says, jumping to his feet. “Actually, I should make a _lot_ more, if everyone’s gonna be here soon.”

Max leans over to punch Terry’s arm. “Did you shower the dog?” she asks.

“He was just in there!” Terry says.

“Most tolerant dog in the world,” Max says, patting Ace’s head.

Jason resists to urge to go and put his arm around Terry’s waist. “We’re going to try to get Drake and his kids to come here,” he tells Terry.

“No,” Terry says, “Dick is going to try to get Tim and the kids to come here. We’re going to be really appealing and keep our mouths shut.” He snags a piece of bread out of the back and sticks it in the toaster. Remembers his family. Remembers not to panic. “When are they coming over?” he asks.

“On their way,” Bruce says. “Any ideas you want to pitch to me first?”

“No ideas,” Terry says. It’s too true. He watches the elements in the toaster glow orange.

“This is why you need a damn Robin,” Max says.

“Fight it out with Jay,” Terry says, not looking up. “And no, no one actually gets to be Robin.”

“Ace can be Robin,” Jason says, trying to haul the dog into his lap. He wants to stop feeling helpless and start hitting people. “Hey, uh--No word from the doctor yet, right? About if I’m a clone?” It’s weighing on his mind a little more, now that he’s thinking about why the Joker is back and what they’re going to do about it.

“Probably not the clone thing,” Terry says. The truth is, he’d kind of forgotten. Especially since Bruce seems to have decided it’s a non-issue. He wonders what it means, that Bruce the cynical paranoia queen has decided it’s a non-issue. “I mean, honestly, because you’ve both got your memories, right?”

Bruce says, “Your body is missing.”

“Uh,” Jason says.

“You dug up his _grave?_ ” Max demands.

“Of course,” Bruce says. “You’re scientifically minded, Maxi--Max. Don’t act shocked.” He frowns at Jason. “If this isn’t your body, someone at least made use of it.” He peers into his coffee cup. “The Joker’s, too.”

“Who helped you do _that?”_ Terry asks. “And when the heck were you doing it?”

“I’m old,” Bruce says. “I don’t sleep much.” _Alone,_ he doesn’t say. _Slowly._ He didn’t want anyone else to know. He didn’t want anyone else to see.

“Well, props for that,” Max says. “Good detective work. Does this mean legitimate resurrection of some kind?”

“Who cares?” Jason says. “All kinds of weird stuff happens all the time. I just want to know that whatever we do to the Joker won’t do anything to me.”

“You didn’t--sorry, Jay--you didn’t wake up there, did you? I mean--in there? I mean in your--” Terry stops. Jason definitely knows.

“My _grave_ ,” Jason says doggedly. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t remember at first, but no. Look, best guess, someone took us out and--what, reanimated us somehow? I don’t know if that’s possible, but everything else happens, right? I’m not the first person to suddenly come back to life.”

“Yeah,” Terry says, “but if we find out who did it and what they did and why, exactly, we might get a leg up. And it might help _you._ Do you remember where you _did_ wake up?”

“Here,” Jason says slowly. “Fighting--No, there were, like, big pods of liquid and stuff? Sorry, I suck at this. It might have been a dream. It looked sort of like a hospital.” He has a flash of inspiration. ”Or a lab. Like a weird, blue lab.”

“Oh, a weird blue lab,” Terry says. “Sounds like an accident of the universe to me. You think maybe we can find that weird blue lab?”

_Tim can find it,_ Bruce almost says, because enough of them are here and speaking that he almost forgets that nothing is as good as he can imagine it. “That will be one project to put forward, when the others arrive,” he says. “Which should be any minute.”

“Great,” Jason says, unsettled by the memories that even now keep trying to slither away.

“I hear the door,” Max says at the same time Ace sits up and whines.

“I’d better go make sure it isn’t housebreakers,” Bruce says.

“Who doesn’t fall under that heading, in his book?” Max asks his back. “Hey, Ter, coffee’s ready.”

“I’ll let you guys do coffee and chill for a second,” Jason says, getting to his feet. “I want to meet Steph.” He goes after Bruce. “Wait up, old man.”

~

Bruce is the one who opens the door, but Steph notices Jason first. She knows what he looks like--they’ve shown her pictures. He always looked too young in them, like she and Dick and Tim and Terry weren’t all too young. He looks too young now, like he thinks he might be a grownup and the world is so big he hasn’t noticed how little he is. She can tell he’s going to say something obnoxious right out of the gate. 

“Bruce,” she says with a nod as he lets her and Dick in.

“Steph,” Bruce says.

“Wow, when you went straight, you went _really_ straight,” Jason says to Dick. He offers Steph his hand. “Hey, I’m Jay.”

Steph raises her eyebrow and shakes it, firm and clearly communicative.

“Jason--” Dick starts.

“I know,” Jason says. “Sorry. C’mon in and have some coffee. Made it myself.” He’s already back to acting like master of the house, just like when he used to live here.

“Coffee is good,” Steph says.

Bruce says to Jason, “I see you’ve been thinking up exactly what to say when you and Steph finally met.”

“I didn’t call her hot,” Jason says. “That shows restraint and respect.”

Dick sighs. There, that sounds more like the Dick Jason knows. “You’re in a good mood, Jay.” 

Dick is looking at his bandaged hand.

Bruce says, “Terry and Max are in the kitchen. I was going to suggest something more formal, but I guess that will do.”

“There’s also the coffee,” Steph notes.

“Informal’s fine with me,” Dick says.

When they get to the kitchen, Ace greets them with a low woof.

“Hey, Terry,” Dick says, doing a bad job of hiding his worry when he sees Terry’s face.

“Shit,” Steph says. “I _knew_ it was bad. Sorry I couldn’t stop him.”

“You saw?” Terry says, startled. “Then I guess the jig was up whether it left a mark or not. Appreciate that you didn’t get involved, though.”

“You thought we wouldn’t get nosy,” Dick says. “Don’t worry, we all used to do this for a living. We’re careful.” Or they’re not, and that’s why they don’t anymore.

“No, I meant it,” Terry says. “Because she thought it would screw things up. Sorry if I scared you,” he tells Steph.

“You scared everyone,” Dick says, “but now we’re all caught up.”

“Kind of,” says Jason, bouncing cautiously on the balls of his feet. “What about the Tim thing?” He really wants to meet the last Robin of all, no matter how much he knows it’ll scare him.

“What _Tim thing_?” Steph asks sharply.

Bruce says, “Terry was going to speak to you...”

“He can speak to me now,” Steph says.

“We want him to come here,” Jason says in a rush. “Well, the smart people do. We want him and your adorable adopted babies to be safe.”

Steph barrels past _adorable babies._ “Hell no,” she says furiously. “You’re not bringing him back here.”

“Wait,” Bruce says. “Stephanie. Think. Where would he be safer? He’s on his own out there.” Bruce has never been able to get through to Steph, but he will damn well try.

“He can take care of himself,” Steph says.

“Can he?” Bruce asks. He watches Dick, whose lies he’s always been able to read. “What about himself and two children?”

“They’ll be safe out of Gotham. They’re already packing.”

“What if the Joker knows about the kids?” Terry says.

“Then--we’re fucked,” Steph says, shoulders slumping. “Fuck. I’m not stupid. But I don’t know if this is better and I _do_ know he would hate it.” She looks at Dick.

Dick swallows. He used to hate coming back here, and next to Tim, he barely had a reason. “He’ll hate it so much,” he says. “But it would be safer.”

“I don’t think you’re giving the guy enough credit,” Jason says.

“No,” Terry says. “He’ll definitely hate it. We don’t talk. I kind of disgust him?”

“You’re talking like this guy just gave up. What the hell kind of Robin is that?”

“Jason--” Bruce starts darkly.

“Not now,” Dick cuts him off. “You weren’t there, Jay. You didn’t see. But Bruce is right. Now that the kids have been to Gotham, the risk is too high.”

“Fuck,” says Steph. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay. Fine. Let me give him a call and tell him why he absolutely has to come play house guest with Bruce fucking Wayne.” She leaves.

Terry turns to Jason. “You wanted to meet Stephanie Brown.”

“Uh, _love_ her,” Jason says. “So impressed. Just how open is your relationship, Dick? Can I kiss her?”

Dick closes his eyes. “Um, no.”

Terry watches the doorway. “Will he listen?” he asks Dick. It’s one thing to convince Steph and Dick that Tim needs to do anything, and another altogether to convince Tim to do it. 

“I don’t know,” Dick says helplessly. “I should--No, she’ll be better at talking to him.” Sometimes Dick is. There are times when Tim needs someone gentle, and Steph can’t always be that.

“Sounds like maybe a team effort kind of guy,” Max says, shrugging. “Just saying.”

“You sound like you maybe want to take the dog for a walk,” Bruce says, glowering. “Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Terry says generally. “When’s the commish coming?” 

“Any time,” Bruce says. 

“Maybe I’ll go wait by the door,” Terry says. He pushes up from the table and leaves Max and Dick and Bruce and Jason alone. The shower took the edge off, but he can already feel his head start to swim again. Terry isn’t antisocial, but it’s jarring, having this many people in his space after he’s been protecting it so completely. And they’re all opinionated.

Max watches him go and props Ace’s head up on her lap. “Sorry. Let me know what I can do to help, besides making sure everyone goes easy on Terry.”

“That’s probably going to take up enough of your time,” Dick says ruefully. “Bruce, if Tim does come here, can you keep things—all right between the two of you?” 

Bruce says, “Do you want me to say I’ll be happy? I’m not happy.”

“I want you to say you won’t make it worse,” Dick says. “Not on purpose, at least.” That’s probably harsh. Bruce probably deserves it.

“That would hardly be my intention,” Bruce says. “Don’t think I don’t care. Just because I have no right--”

“Oh, Jeez,” Jason says. “How about nobody freaks out and starts going on about _rights_ and _betrayal_ and whatever? Worst case scenario, just don’t talk to each other, right? It’s a big house.”

Dick laughs. “I--really missed you, Jason.”

“I hope Terry can handle a houseful of Robins,” Max says, half joking and half not. “You people have seriously strong personalities.”

“Too much man for you, sweetie?” Jason says, leering slightly.

Max barks out a skeptical laugh, “Too much of a _boy_ , maybe. You’re not and never will be my type. I like to think I have better taste than Terry.”

“Are you calling your best friend a cradle robber?” Jason says. “Pal, I got years of experience over the two of you combined.” He smiles sweetly at her, keeping Dick’s expression in his range of vision. It’s teetering between scandalized and amused: his typical span of Jason emotions.

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Max says, “but I’m not about to antagonize a kid with a bad temper and a hand full of glass.”

“Very wise,” Dick mutters.

“My hand isn’t full of glass,” Jason says. “I don’t think, anyway. Probably it all came out.”

“Perhaps we could focus,” Bruce says.

“Sorry,” Dick says. “Just keep wondering how Steph is doing. She’s been gone a while, so he didn’t hang up on her, anyway.”

“Yeah, well he’s not _stupid,_ right?” Jason says.

“I wish you would stop talking about someone you don’t know so familiarly,” Bruce says.

“Well, if I could just fucking meet him, it wouldn’t be a problem anymore, now would it? Maybe Steph can just tell him that. Come to Wayne Manor so Jay Todd can get a look at you and make personal comments without getting yelled at.”

“You’ll still get yelled at,” Bruce says.

Dick’s expression goes tight and closed. “Jason--You have to be careful what you say to him. I’m not talking about offending someone, here. If you say something without thinking, you could really hurt him.”

“Fine,” Jason says, mood dampened. As if he doesn’t know how that works. “Jesus Christ, I get it already.” Much as he doesn’t want fanboy Robin and the kids to get hurt, he’s starting to really hate Tim Drake. Maybe Jason will find a different part of the manor to live in, too.

“I just want everyone to be okay,” Dick says miserably.

“Not your job to make everything perfect,” Max tells him. “Don’t worry, they’ll work it out.”

“Yeah, Dick,” Jason says. He knows he sounds belligerent, but he doesn’t care. “I didn’t come back to life to fuck with your boyfriend. Probably.”

“Just with Bruce’s?” Max asks, eyebrows raised, and then laughs at Jason’s face. “Kidding, only kidding. Things definitely wound up better for everyone.”

“As enlightening as your opinions are, Maxine--” Bruce starts, feeling very ready to lose his temper.

“You’re kind of a self-righteous bitch, huh?” Jason says, might not be fair, doesn’t care, just wants to get the hell out of here. “Anyway, we’re all Bruce’s fucking ex, what’s gonna fuck with us worse than that?” He bites down on his lip, way too late.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, then realizes he doesn’t actually _want_ to defend Bruce.

Max is quiet for a second. Then she says, “Aside from the part where you called me a bitch, which you had better not ever do again, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little too protective of Terry. You seem like a good guy. I’m sure Bruce can be, too.” She doesn’t sound _very_ sure.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason says. He slouches down in his chair and watches his heel scuff against the floor. Bruce, helpfully, doesn’t say anything. “This teaming-up thing sure is great,” Jason mutters.

~

When his phone rings, Tim is herding Damian and Cassie out to the car.

“Steph,” he says. “We’re out the door.”

“Yeah,” Steph says tightly, “about that. I think a change of plan might actually be more useful.” She says _I_ and not _we_ because she doesn’t want to make it sound like Tim is the only one being left out of the adult decision-making process.

“What does _that_ mean?” Tim says, shifting the weight of his bags in his hand and checking back to Cassie and Damian.

“I think you’d be safer at the manor,” Steph says.

Tim stops stock-still, and then strides the rest of the way to the car with a kind of paced fury.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he says. “You’re not saying you want me to _go_ there, I hope.”

Steph wants to shake him. She also understands completely. “Tim. If you don’t, you and the kids are out there alone. And now that the kids have been to Gotham, there’s a chance you’re being watched. I know you hate this. I hate it, too. Dick hates it. But we may not have a choice.”

“Because the kids would be safer without me, is what you’re saying,” Tim says, not that bitterly, just sort of tired and worried and disgusted with himself.

“I don’t think so, dad,” Cassie says.

“You’re sweet,” Tim tells her, “but you’re also in much better fighting order. Let’s not kid ourselves.” He beckons her, and Damian, into their seats, and climbs into the front, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. “We’re getting in the car,” he tells Steph. “I can bring the kids to the manor. But I’m not staying there.”

Steph is about to argue, but Tim is the most stubborn person she’s ever met, aside from Bruce. “We’ll talk when you get here,” she says. Maybe Jason will make a difference. Maybe Dick will. What matters is that they get here as fast as possible. Her heart clenches when she thinks about the drive, and how many things could go wrong between now and when they arrive.

“You mean you’ll turn my bad opinions right around?” Tim says as they pull out of the driveway. “Steph, cooped up in a house full of dysfunctional victims all panicking about whether the Joker is going to get them again is not what—” He turns around feeling like a jerk because Damian makes a little noise, and before he cen apologize, he loses speech. There’s a little crack of sound, like fireworks lighting, and—

Then there’s fire, boiling out in red-hot clouds, carrying the vaporized shreds of Tim’s house in their blackened contrails. The boom of the explosion shakes the car, and Cassie screams--just a half a second, bitten off and brave. Her eyes are so huge, looking at Tim. Damian looks back and forth between the burning house and his father and then starts to cry, not big sobs, just a clenched jaw and tears down his face.

“We’re going,” Time hears himself say between his choking heartbeats. “Steph, we’re okay. We’re coming to you. I have to hang up to drive.”

He hangs up before she can even answer, throws his foot against the gas, and prays to god the car isn’t the next to go. He doesn’t think will be. Letting them get away is part of the joke.


	16. let the fire breathe me back to life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: suggestions of violence

Steph comes back to the kitchen, her face white and hands numb around her phone. She looks at Dick. “Uh, something happened,” she croaks. Not helpful, but her brave, brilliant family could be dead and she wouldn’t even know.

“What did you mean?” Dick says. “Didn’t he answer?”

“He didn’t want to come,” Steph says, on the edge of tears. “There was--I heard something explode, and he said they were okay, but he had to go. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It sounded big.”

“Were they at the house?” Dick asks. His phone is in his hand.

“Yeah, just leaving,” Steph says. “God. _God._ ”

Dick hits a key on his phone and puts it against his ear. “Madison,” he says, “are you responding to an explosion at--yes. My house. Be _careful_. There’s probably Joker activity. No, not Jokerz. The Joker. No, I’m not kidding.” He wanders out of the room.

Jason says shakily, “Man, I hate that guy. Good thing Dick knows cops, I guess.”

Steph takes a deep, difficult breath. “Our house,” she says Even if Tim and the kids are okay, how are they ever supposed to feel safe again?

“It’s okay,” Jason says quickly, but he knows it’s a stupid thing to say, especially coming from him.

“Tim was just getting back on his feet after last time,” Steph says. “And now that fucker comes after my kids? We’ll make him sorry.”

Bruce clears his throat. “We can give him an escort,” he says. “if you know which route he would take.”

Steph looks at him for a second like she might tear him apart. Then she says, “No. I’m going to get them.” She can’t tell if that’s good or stupid. She has no perspective left.

Jason sinks down in his chair, feeling useless, trying not to take the other Robins’ house blowing up too personally. The Joker probably won’t get him twice. He’ll probably be okay. Just because no one ever _is_...

“I think,” Max says tentatively, “that maybe no one should go alone. Splitting up might be what he wants?” She looks to Steph.

“I don’t know!” Steph shouts. “There’s never any right answer with the Joker, is there?” Max shakes her head. There’s never been a Joker in her lifetime.

“I can go with you,” Jason says, feeling small. “I’m alive, right?”

“What good are you going to be in a fight?” Bruce asks.

“Ask fucking Terry!” Jason snaps. “Come on. I’m not completely out of commission, here.”

“And discussion over,” Steph says. “Come on, Jay. You can ride on the back of my bike.”

Jason nods wordlessly.

Steph marches to the front door, but she stops when she sees Terry. She’d forgotten. “Hey, Terry,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, “Jason and I are going to meet Tim and the kids halfway.”

Terry gestures down the hall, where they can hear Dick’s voice. “He said there was a bomb. I’m sorry.” His eyes flick to Jason. “Take care of yourselves.”

“I’ll bring them all back in one piece,” Steph says, steadying. “Let Barbara know what’s going on when she gets here.”

“Sure,” Terry says. He still has his eyes on Jason, though.

“Don’t worry, McGinnis,” Jay says, more confidently than he feels. No time for this. He pushes past with an apologetic smile.

“He’s with me,” Steph says as she goes by. She hopes that inspires confidence. She's not losing anyone today.

~

Tim’s hands aren’t shaking as he drives toward the manor, because they can’t be. He can feel himself threatening to dissociate, but he lets the old, effective instincts take over, the ones that carried him through so easily when he was Robin. No room for panic. Not with the kids in the car.

“Getting closer,” he says. His voice doesn’t come out quite right, and they’re not close enough. “You kids doing okay back there?”

“We’re fine, dad,” Cassie says. She’s trying to keep Damian distracted. So far all he’s doing is getting mad, which is always the _worst,_ but it’s not the worst right now.

Tim nods shortly. It makes his head swim. His shoulders are so tense they ache, and all he’s doing is driving somewhere that will make all of it worse. Wayne Manor isn’t safe. Not for him. His phone buzzes, and he pushes it into the back seat. “Cass, can you?” He needs to focus or they won’t get there.

“Got it,” she says, taking it from him. “Mommy?”

“Cassie? I’m coming to meet you. Everyone doing okay there? Which way are you coming?” Steph sounds almost calm, just a little too rushed.

“Can’t you track our phones?” Cassie says. “Don’t worry. Damian’s being good. Daddy’s driving good.” She really wants to get out of the car, but that can wait. 

“I can’t track you right now,” Steph says. “I left without--anything. Just a phone and my bike. And Jason. Are you on a back road? I’m gonna come get you, baby, don’t worry.”

Cassie presses her face up against the window as they cross an intersection. “We’re on Hewett Parkway, east. We just passed Palm Court. There’s not a lot of cars.” She doesn’t know if that makes her more scared or less. “Dad, are we gonna stay on this road?”

Tim realizes he hasn’t been thinking, just driving on instinct. “No,” he says. “We’re going left up here. Tell Mom--the way we went when there was construction last year.” All he wants is for Steph to come get him, but he has to keep it together until then.

“Thanks,” Cassie says. “Dad says go the way you went for the construction last year.”

“Okay,” Steph says. “Okay. Be there soon. Gonna hang up and drive now. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom,” Cassie says. She hangs up, but she doesn’t give dad his phone back. She nudges Damian’s foot with hers. “Why’re you quiet?”

Damian glares at Cassie. “Not quiet,” he says through his teeth. He’s not crying anymore, but he looks like he might start again.

“Yeah, you are,” Cass says. “That’s okay. Dad can drive better.”

Damian grabs his hands together and squeezes too hard. “I want to get out.”

Tim very carefully drives just inside the upper range of the speed limit.

“Mom’s gonna come drive with us to the old guy’s house,” Cassie says. She doesn’t know who to look at. “We can smash his plates or something.”

Damian gives her a wobbly smile. He has remembered his life goal: to ruin lives, and Bruce’s in particular. 

“Yup,” Cassie says. Look at his face, not at her feet. Look at dad, don’t look at what’s on the floor. She can do it. She can make it as far as mom.

Tim breathes a little sigh of relief in the front seat and keeps an eye out for Steph’s bike.

~

Steph feels a little better after talking to Cass, but she can’t stop thinking about how all of this is clearly being carefully controlled by the Joker. If he wanted them to escape (and he must have), then he wants them heading to Gotham as well. If she can just reach them, though, that won't matter so much.

“Are they all right?” Jason shouts above the wind. He’s weirdly uncomfortable holding onto Steph--weirdly for him--and he only realizes after they’re ten minutes out of Bruce’s driveway that he’s driving towards someone the Joker just tried to blow up. Some middle-aged guy who took over because Jason was dead. Somehow Jay’s keeping the balance between not letting go and not breaking Steph’s ribs, but it’s _difficult._

“Yes!” Steph shouts back. She doesn’t know why she brought Jason, but he was game and she didn’t really want to go alone, after all. She spots a car down the road that looks like theirs and speeds up. She’s just waiting for it all to go wrong. No, not theirs. A little further, maybe.

“It’ll be okay!” Jason yells. What the hell does he know? But he likes Steph already and he just wants one stupid thing in this whole stupid second life to not go abysmally wrong.

Steph drives in silence, only able to stand any of this because of the roar and chill of the wind.

Finally, on an empty stretch of road, Steph sees the car. Tim must be driving fast, although not as fast as she is. When he gets close, he stops the car, and Steph pulls over onto the shoulder and hops off the bike.

Tim is out of the car and grabbing Steph before she can get a word out, and she tries to hold him together, hands gripping his back as she looks for the kids in the back seat.

“Made it,” she says. It doesn’t matter about getting back to the manor. She made it to her family.

Jason hangs back, suddenly feeling as awkward as it gets. He can see the kids ( _kids_ ) in the back seat of the car. It’s sort of amazing in a horrible way that Tim and Steph adopted kids who aren’t even white and still ended up with tiny Bruce Waynes.

He tries waving, but neither of of the kids wave back.

Steph finally lets go of Tim, because even though she knows he needs her to hang on, she has to see Cass and Damian. She has see them, and then she has to get everyone out of here. She opens the back door and Damian flings himself into her arms for a brief, rough hug before he barrels away to stand by her bike.

“Cassie, honey, hey,” Steph says, trying not to cry. She can’t watch the kids and Tim and Jason at the same time.

“Hey,” Cassie says. She’s holding very still. How upset is mom going to be? Should she wait until they’re at the big house? “I don’t think our house is okay,” she says, because she’s trying to stay calm and that’s the first thing her mind latches onto that might be _better._ “I’m glad we didn’t get a dog.”

Steph swallows. “Me too. We’ll worry about the house later, okay? I’m just really glad you’re safe. Come on out a second, I want to check the car, just in case.”

“No!” Cassie says, like a yelp. Everyone looks at her, _no,_ that isn’t the plan. “No, it’s okay,” she says. “I checked. But I--” All the boys are watching her and she’s scared Dad and Damian will get too upset. “--I found something bad, not a bomb or anything.” She says it really quietly and hopes Mom doesn’t let them get closer.

Steph stiffens. “Good girl,” she says in a low voice. She smiles over at Tim and says more loudly, “It’s okay. We’re good. Just taking this slow.” She turns back to Cass. “Okay, sweetheart, tell me.”

“I don’t know what it m-means,” Cassie says. “I think he must have put it here, though.” She takes a little rough breath and then pushes aside the blanket she’s been balancing on her feet. There’s a crowbar underneath. It’s rusty and--not just rusty, Cassie’s not stupid, she learned fast when she was little. There are ribbons tied together around it in a big bow, green and white and purple. Cassie’s not stupid. It scares her so much.

Steph can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t _think_. She knows she should say something comforting, but it won’t come. He’s _everywhere_ , and they can’t make themselves safe, no matter how hard they work.

But she can’t just stand here, paralyzed, because Damian and Tim can’t know. Jason sure as _hell_ can’t know. “You’re so smart,” she tells Cassie fervently. “Thank you. Thanks for being brave. We won’t tell Dad and Damian.”

“Do I just,” Cassie says, “do I just keep it here? The rest of the way?” She wants it away from her so badly she feels like it’s going to rise up into the air and attack her without anybody holding it. But she’s brave, mom said she was _brave,_ she can’t ask that question and cry just so mom says no.

Steph could take Cassie on the bike with her, but then Jason would have to ride in the car, and he might find it by accident--no. No. “Just a little longer,” she says, nodding. “Just so the boys don’t get scared. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Cassie says. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._ She moves the blanket over again and puts her feet on top of it. “Who’s that guy? The one who isn’t talking to daddy?”

Steph takes a deep breath and raises her voice a little. “Sorry. Everyone, this is Jason. Jason, this is Tim, Cassie, and Damian.”

Tim, who has been eyeing Jason awkwardly, says, “Bad timing, but nice to meet you.” He manages not to sound too bitter or strained. He mostly sounds like the incredibly normal person he’s trying to be.

“Thanks,” Jason says unhappily. Way to get in the middle of a freaked-out family reunion, Jay. “I--you too. Dick says good things. About how you’re great.”

Tim wrinkles his nose. “Dick is a little overenthusiastic about _everyone_. He’s great, too, huh?” Even if Tim wants nothing to do with Batman and friends anymore, he couldn’t ever write off Dick and Barbara. They saved him.

“He’s _cool_ now,” Jason says. “It’s weird. You’re, um, you’re part of why he’s cool.” He hugs himself. “Sorry, this is weird. Did you want to go?”

“I want to go with mom,” Damian says. He’s hanging onto her bike like he sees the fight that’s coming and is planning to win.

“No,” Steph says. “I don’t want you falling off. Back in the car with Dad and Cass.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Tim says. “You can bother Bruce all you want. I know you like doing that.” He frowns.

“I don’t want to,” Damian says. “I’m going with mom.”

“Come here, Damian,” Cassie says. “You have to come ride in the car so I’m not scared.”

“You’re not scared of anything,” Damian says angrily. “Don’t be a liar. I want to go with mom!”

“Fine,” Steph says quickly, because anxious as it makes her, she knows that Damian _does not budge_ once he gets started. As long as the crowbar is on Cassie’s side of the car, Jason won’t notice and it should all be fine. She just hopes putting Jason and Tim in a car together isn’t a huge mistake. “But you’d better hold on tight. We’ll meet you three at the house,” she tells Tim. She gives him a brave smile.

Tim nods. “Okay. Meet you there.” 

Jason says, “Yeah. Yeah! Don’t worry, kid, I’ll take care of your family for you, while you--take care of your mom. Right?” Damian glares at him mistrustfully, so that’s probably not completely right. “Uh. Should I--I can sit in the back. Unless you want--I mean, my house didn’t just get--I mean, it’s not like I didn’t drive the cars when I wasn’t stealing the tires off ‘em.”

He sounds like an ignorant little punk. He hopes Tim is an ignorant little punk. He looks more like some golf-playing trust fund asshole. Oh, god.

But Tim almost sobs with relief. “Could you drive? That would be--thank you.” He can’t be too grateful, or he’ll fall apart in front of Cassie. He smiles, remembers smiling isn’t always safe for him, and smooths his expression back out again. Jason is nicer than he expected, from the stories, and from what he was able to pick up when Jason was still alive.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Yeah, I can--yeah, no problem.” He takes the keys and stops. “Okay. I’m a fast learner, so don’t panic, but--how does it go up and down? I’ve flown stuff before!”

Tim laughs (the good kind, although for a second he’s not sure). “Oh, god. Sure, it’s just this here. Sort of like driving a stick shift, actually.”

“ _That_ I can do,” Jason says. “Okay, cool. Maybe you could, uh, sit up here and give me directions?” God, even when he’s _trying_ to help he’s a fucking disaster.

“Of course,” Tim says. He smiles at Cassie and hops into the front next to Jason. Teaching Jason Todd how to drive. Not exactly something he thought would happen in this life.

~

Wayne Manor stinks. Max thinks it always stinks, but this is getting rank. Terry looks terrible. Bruce is creeping around the house looking scary as hell, probably because he feels worried and guilty, and that stuff always comes out of Bruce Wayne as “giant damn prick.” Commissioner Gordon showed up awhile ago, and she and Terry are talking, while she looks too closely at Terry’s bruises and Terry looks more and more miserable.

Commissioner Gordon can be a real jerk, too. Max is kind of viciously happy that Terry managed to screw up her investigation for weeks without her noticing he was doing it. Makes Max proud. 

She’s the only one looking when the car comes up the drive, Steph’s bike behind it. 

“They’re back!” she shouts. Ace comes over right away, because he is the one person in this house with normal priorities.

Terry looks out the window, counting passengers. 

“They made it,” he says. He glances at Max. He’s incredibly grateful that she’s here. This situation is about to get a thousand percent more awkward and painful, and it’ll be nice to have someone with outside perspective. Besides, it’s Max. Max always makes Terry feel better.

Barbara’s head snaps up. “Let me talk to Tim first, Bruce.” Maybe she’s hoping to act as a barrier to whatever unpleasantness they might still have between them.

Bruce frowns. “Feel free. Did you think I was going to jump out of the shadows and start lecturing?” He lets Barbara head out the door ahead of the rest of them, but he follows, Terry and Max hurrying to catch up.

Terry hasn’t generally tried to fix things with Bruce and Tim, but he wonders how he can fit repairing Bruce into this horrible day. He can tell Bruce is sad and guilty and anxious and worried sick. They _all_ are—but no one seems to remember that Bruce is _old._ Even if he deserved everything they might throw at him...in practice, it’s just one more person Terry gets to be afraid of losing because he didn’t make the right move at the right time. 

~

Steph hops off her bike, makes sure Damian is on his feet, and immediately goes to get Cassie out of the car. “You good, hon?” she asks, giving her a brave smile. Cassie nods. Her face is too small and serious.

Tim is sitting still in the passenger seat, looking up at the house. Jason, beside him, gives a little nervous twitch, like it’s about to be a gesture but he can’t quite manage it.

“You too, huh?” he says. Maybe the third Robin is kind of pathetic, but he seems okay. And Jason does recognize this part.

Tim sighs. “I don’t know what’s worse, that I wasn’t good enough to survive it and still want to be here, or that he wouldn’t have wanted me anyway after what I did.” He can say this to Jason easily and without a hitch in his voice. It’s surprising. But who else would understand?

Jason is quiet for a few seconds. “Thanks,” he says. “For what you did.” He tries to smile without crying or punching something. “I’m pretty fucking pissed he didn’t do it himself. All this _I would have, I would have_ crap is about forty years and how many victims too late, you know?”

Tim swallows. “I--know.” He almost can’t make himself say it. Because he wishes he hadn’t, most days. Not because it was wrong, but because it meant he could never come back. “I’m sorry it didn’t stick.” That part is very true.

Jason gestures aimlessly to himself. “The worst shit always comes around again, I guess. Hey, I hear you were a big Jason Todd fan. Wanna see my bedroom?”

Tim laughs weakly. “Oh, god. You make me sound like such a creep. But yeah, I’d like that.” _Being Robin is a stupid game for stupid kids who get tortured and die on a concrete floor,_ Tim tells himself. But that old mantra sounds hollow and fake, in this place and with these people. He gets out of the car and smiles at Barbara and Dick. If he focuses on them, everything should be fine. “Hey.”

Dick swoops him into a fierce hug. “You had me worried,” he says. “The house?”

Tim shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Sorry. It looked pretty--complete. I’m sorry, Dick, all your stuff--” But obviously Dick doesn’t care about that.

Dick kisses his forehead. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “It’s okay.” He adds a little sly smile, looking up at Tim from under his lashes. “Don’t worry, Mr. Bourgeoisie, Steph and I can teach you the poors’ ways to live without stuff.” He lets go and grabs onto Damian and Cassie before they can catch what he’s doing and stop him. He lets them go again before they can kick.

“You brought some stuff, right? You packed?” he says. “Let me grab things.”

It takes Cassie a moment to register what Dick says. She’s busy staring at Bruce, because Bruce is staring at Damian, and Cassie doesn’t like it.

She’s so busy glaring at him that she doesn’t realize, for a minute, that while everyone else is talking, Dick is heading straight over to the car. But they didn’t get rid of _it_ yet. And Dick doesn’t know it’s there.

“Damian, stay,” she says. But people are in the way—Dad will _see_ \--and Damian grabs her wrist because he doesn’t like being bossed. “ _Stop_ it!” she hisses, and shakes him off. Except now Bruce is looking at her, and so are Mom and Dad. And Dick is pulling things out of the car.

Steph sees. Of course she does. 

“Dick,” Steph says sharply. “I’ll get everything later. I want to get everyone inside and settled down.” She acts like she can’t see Bruce and Tim both narrowing their eyes and trying to figure out if something’s happening.

“I’m almost done,” Dick says, forehead wrinkling. 

“Then grab what you have and leave the rest for me,” Steph says. “Please. I want to get inside and out of the open.” She’s allowed to be a little rattled and anxious, right? _Damn it, Dick, come on,_ she thinks. _Use your instincts._

“Sure,” Dick says, blinking. “Sure thing.” He hefts up two of the suitcases, and Max hurries over to grab the third and a duffle bag. 

“Careful with that one,” Dick says. “Tim’s retired, but it’s probably full of weapons anyway.”

Tim looks a little embarrassed, but also a little pleased, which Steph thinks is probably a step in the right direction. She nods to Cassie. “Okay, sweetie, let’s get you and your brother inside.” _Good girl. So good._ When this is over, Steph is taking Cass out for ice cream.

Tim heads for the house, then hesitates. Looks at Bruce. “Can I--? Hi, Bruce.”

“Tim,” Bruce says. His jaw works. He doesn’t want to say anything more, but he should. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re safe.” He wishes there weren’t eight other people standing right here. He wishes he weren’t standing right here. “We’ll go in and get settled. You can have your old room, if you want.” He hopes Tim can still tell when he’s being sardonic.

“I’ve probably outgrown the bed,” Tim says. “I remember it being very small.” He gives Bruce a little sideways smile. “We can always put Damian there.” This isn’t as horrible as Tim thought it would be. The past few times he’s talked to Bruce have been easy (mostly), so maybe they’re both getting over things. Still. He hopes Bruce appreciates his not having a meltdown or refusing to let Bruce near his kids in case they end up fighting crime in costumes.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Without his sister?” Ahead of them, Damian is clinging fiercely to Cassie’s elbow.

“Apparently not,” Tim says. “They--They’re good at taking care of each other. I’m glad we found her.”

“They should feel lucky,” Bruce says, frowning. “Although maybe the boy could use a little more discipline.”

“Hm,” Tim says. “I doubt that would stick, somehow.” He’s tried, and Steph has sometimes succeeded, but Damian is the most stubborn human being Tim has ever met. “He’s worse than you.” There, he’s over the threshold and into the house as he speaks. That was easy.

“Genetically predisposed to fly in the face of the law?” Bruce asks. Still joking. Doesn’t really want to hear _yes._

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Apparently. Unless he picked it up from Steph.” He feels a little better, now, and more like making friends. He looks at Terry, who is apparently joined at the hip with Jason now. Interesting. “Hey, McGinnis,” he says.

Terry turns around. “Yeah?” It’s easy to remember in the flash of uncertainty on Terry’s injured face that it’s not a full house yet after all, and while they’re all trying not to be too awkward over old wounds, he’s probably wondering whether his little brother is being tortured, wondering what the Joker is doing to his mother. He’s the only one who’s not stuck in the past.

Tim forgets what he was going to say. Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “I need all the intel you have on the Joker. Where he’s appeared, and when. Anything he’s said that could have been a coded reference to his plans. Transcripts or vids, if you have them. Sound good?”

“What?” Terry says. “But I thought--”

“Me too,” Tim says. “But I don’t see anyone else doing it.” Tim was never someone who fucked around feeling things when there was work to do. Somehow he’s become that by accident, but looking at Terry’s face, he finds the idea of staying on the sidelines impossible.

“Oh,” Terry says. “Thanks.”

“Detective Tim,” Dick says, with one of his mixed-up Dick expressions. A little concerned, largely proud, slightly embarrassed because he’s the professional, actual, job title detective, and Tim is so much better at that part.

“Are you okay to--?” Steph starts.

“I don’t know,” Tim says shortly. “Our house just blew up, I’m in Wayne Manor, and the Joker keeps hurting my friends. But this needs to get done before we can worry about if I’m _okay to_.”

Cassie takes Damian’s hand and looks at Tim with big eyes. “We can wait somewhere,” she says. “Somewhere else in the house?”

Bruce stirs himself. “Yes,” he says. “Good idea, Cassandra. Max--I know you’re capable, but you aren’t trained. Since I have no doubt you’ve made a blueprint of the house already--”

“Uh-uh,” says Max. “I’m sure they’re great kids, but I’m not a babysitter. You’re not sticking the black woman in the nanny role, old man.” She crosses her arms. “I can help Mr. Drake.”

“I can show you guys around,” Dick says to Cassie and Damian. Cassie and Damian and Bruce all look equally unhappy.

“We can just show ourselves around,” Cassie says dubiously.

“Just be careful what you touch,” Steph says. “Some of it’s booby-trapped.”

Tim decides to excuse himself from the squabble. “Hi,” he says, offering Max his hand. “I’m Tim. Terry’s mentioned you. How are you with computers?”

“I dated one, one time,” Max says. “For real.”

Tim laughs. “Of the many times in my life I’ve encountered that phrase, that’s the first time someone’s meant it literally. Come on, let’s go over the footage and see what we can make of it.”

“I’d offer to coordinate efforts,” Barbara says, “but I gather I’m a little behind the times. Most of my intel is useless.” She gives Terry a searching look. “You’re too good, McGinnis.”

“Sorry,” Terry says. There’s nothing cheeky in it. He’s not in a smiling mood.

“Batcave,” Bruce says. “Dick?”

“Kids,” Dick says. He smiles at them hopefully. Damian glowers and Cassie shrugs. “I’m going with the kids,” Dick says.

“Fine,” Bruce says. “Everyone else--downstairs.” He leads the way, assuming they’ll follow him.

Jason trails along at the end, feeling useless and jittery. At least he got Tim and the kids here safely. He mostly feels like a walking reminder that everyone’s past has come along to fuck up Terry’s future.

“Hanging in?” he asks Terry in a low voice as they file downstairs.

“It’s a lot of people,” Terry says.

Jason nods. “This is going to take them a little while, and we’re mostly good for, you know, punching and stuff. So we could probably take some downtime, if you want.”

“ _This?_ Right now they’re just figuring out how to be in the same room as one another,” Terry says. “No, I don’t want to leave. I just want to make sure they don’t forget anyone.” His someones.

Jason grabs his hand and squeezes. “Drake won’t,” he says. He hadn’t expected that at all, but he can tell. “Neither will Max. And right now they look like our best bet for getting somewhere useful with this. Listen, if you need anything from me, just tell me.” Jason may be a little freaked out by how close the Joker keeps coming, but he’ll still do just about anything Terry wants.

“Let’s blow this joint and face the Joker head-on with no plan,” Terry says. 

His sense of humor is terrible. It’s like if Bruce and Dick had a baby. That he needs to use it like this makes Jason angry.

“You know I’d be up for it any day of the week, but I hear that’s what got me killed,” Jason says, bright and vicious and smiling. “That’s why we have some smart people who’re gonna make it work this time. Remember, Tim didn’t have himself or Max looking for him, and neither did I.”

Terry squeezes Jason’s good hand for half a second and then sticks both his hands in his pockets. “Hope you still like me when all this isn’t going on. I’m pretty boring and normal,” he says. “So’s Gotham. Mostly. I mean, every city’s got its...things.”

“Boring and normal is actually really attractive to me,” Jason says. “But I also don’t completely believe you. Hey, you should give me the grand tour of the city when it’s safe again.” He bets Terry is a great tour guide. Great and obnoxious.

“Do my best,” Terry promises. The words feel like numb strangers. He tunes into the conversation battling all around them, and tries not to let his breath catch. Being alone felt like doing something and failing, and so far, this feels like someone taking away all his options and then setting them aside to talk about the weather.

“Too many cooks, right?” Jason says. He’s watching Terry, not the others. “But they’re smart, and they can pull their heads out of their asses when they need to. The ones I know, anyway.”

“Who’s gonna shut them up and make them?” Terry wonders. “Oh--Sorry. I’m Batman, huh?”

“Good boy,” Jason mutters, loud enough to make sure Terry pays attention. He puts his hand on the small of Terry’s back and gives him a little push.


	17. the torture of smalltalk with someone you used to love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: descriptions of violence/death

“Thanks for coming,” Terry says, before they can change their minds. His voice carries. “I know you didn’t all plan to. Most of us know what it’s like to get beat by the Joker, so you can bet I fully appreciate the fact that you showed up.” He doesn’t look at Bruce or Jason. “Does anyone not know the score at this point?”

“I haven’t been told much,” Tim says. “I’d like to hear more.” It’s easier to defer to Terry, to act like he’s Batman, here in the cave.

“Right,” Terry says. If Tim’s decided he’s up for it, Terry won’t argue. He swallows. “Six weeks ago, the Joker showed up, from we don’t know where, and attacked my family in our apartment. While we were sleeping.” Voice slips. Terry sets it back on track, and makes eye contact like he never dropped it. “Harley Quinn and her clowned-up grandkids were with him, so it’s safe to say she’s back in business, too.”

“Any other help?” Steph cuts in. “Does he have muscle? Jokerz? I’d think by now people would finally get the memo that it’s a mistake to work for him, but, you know. It’d be good to know if we have any other heavy hitters to worry about.”

“We haven’t seen any,” Terry says. “Joker’s flying under the radar. As far as we can tell, it’s him and the Quinns and nobody else. He’s meeting people, not bringing them onboard. And I don’t know what the endgame is—whatever he’s up to, it’s not about me.” He doesn’t need to say that. They all know that the Joker’s endgame has never been anything but Bruce. “All these people he’s meeting,” Terry says, “they don’t have anything in common except him.”

He shifts, calling up a list of names on Bruce’s screen.

“Has he attacked anyone but us?” Tim says. His voice is on edge.

Terry shakes his head and regrets it. He goes still for a few seconds to swallow the nausea down.

“Get back to the story,” Dick prompts, and Terry forces himself to step back from the analysis long enough to get the hard words out of his mouth.

“Right,” Terry says. “He—I wasn’t ready. He caught me totally flatfooted.”

“ _Asleep_ ,” Jason hisses, because there’s a difference, but Terry ignores him.

“I screwed up. He beat me. He called Bruce and gave him a choice—watch him kill me or…take my family. Obviously he knew Bruce couldn’t let me die, no matter how mad I’d be about it.”

Stone silence. Terry tries not to twitch.

“Bruce came and got me,” he said. “I spent a couple weeks in the hospital, Joker kept himself off the commissioner’s radar.”

Jason doesn’t want to look at Bruce to see how uncomfortable he is or isn’t. He makes the mistake of meeting Tim’s eyes instead. Tim is completely white. He is looking at Jason, and his expression says that maybe Jason looks even worse.

Barbara knows the next part and hates it. She says briskly, “And then?”

“And then maybe three days before I got out, Joker paid me a visit. Showed me my family, offered a deal,” Terry says. “Find my family before the cops do. Don’t tell Bruce. Don’t tell the Robins. Don’t tell anybody. Every day nobody knows I’m looking, my family is safe. As soon as they figure out I’m investigating on my own—countdown. And if the cops get to them before I do, it’s—” He’s not the kind of Batman who can get through those words. “If he didn’t change the rules I guess that means we’ve got six days. And Harley’s got them, so we know what she’ll do if we hurt the Joker and she finds out about it.”

There’s a short silence. Steph says, “So we find Harley. Or we find them both, and take them both out at exactly the same time, because we’re so damn good.”

“I didn’t say it was a great deal,” Terry says. “But if I can keep the entire Gotham PD of their tail and my tail and tail the Joker at the same time, we can figure something out together, right? Oh.” He turns to Barbara. “That reminds me. One of his contacts is in your force. They met up a couple times a week or so ago. Your cop gave him something, last time I caught them at it. Don’t know what it was.”

“Damn.” Barbara grimaces. “Okay—give me a name and I’ll handle it.”

“Max and I could probably find him,” Tim says. “We can co-opt a GPS satellite.” He’s still very pale.

“Good,” says Terry. “Do that.” He looks at Jason, but like a problem instead of an ally. “I think we need to figure out where he came from. It’s good odds the Joker and Jason came back the same way. Someone needs to team up with Dr. Thompkins who can do something with whatever she turns up. Bruce?”

“I can do that,” Bruce says, surprising everyone by letting himself be bossed.

“What do you want me to do?” Jason asks. It has to be _something._ He can’t just sit here and wait to see who lives and who dies.

“Can you do legwork?” Terry says. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine!” Jason says. Jesus, if Terry keeps him locked up because of his stupid hand, he’s going to have to break something else.

“Then you and Steph can go hunting,” Terry says. “Tech is good, but so is recon on the ground. And hey, maybe you can punch a few unaffiliated petty criminals while you’re at it.”

“Seriously?” Jason lights up. He was expecting a pity assignment at best, but this is _real_.

Steph looks Jason over. “I think we’ll be an okay team,” she says approvingly. “Once we’ve got something to wear.”

There’s an awkard quiet as everyone looks, or tries not to look, at the old Robin suits in their softly lit shrine.

“I don’t think any of those are going to fit anybody,” Terry says.

“No one comes down here,” Bruce says grimly.

“I bet I would fit in Barbara’s,” Steph says. “If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” says Barbara, although if she had her way, none of this would be happening.

“I guess mine’s not around,” Jason says. “But I could wear one of Dick’s old ones.”

“It’s around,” Bruce says.

“What the actual hell?” says Jason. “I don’t—Okay. Not gonna even ask. Can I just have it? We have stuff to do. You massive weirdo.”

“I’m not—” Bruce says. He shuts his eyes and sighs. As if it’s not his fault people are looking at him funny. “Yes. It’s in the attic.”

Jason doesn’t go around analyzing everything the way everybody else seems to. He doesn’t even try to work out why he’s the only one that doesn’t get a creepy glass case. “Great. Awesome. Thanks.”

“Commissioner,” Terry says.

“Yes?”

“I think you should keep your team out of the way. No offense. But you could pass it along to someone in a different precinct? Like Officer Dick Grayson?”

Barbara grits her teeth. She’s a better cop than Dick, and handing him the reins, even in name, is an affront—but now isn’t the time to say so. “Okay,” she agrees. “Smart.”

“ _Wait,”_ says Jason loudly. They all wait.

“Dick’s a _cop?”_ says Jason.

“Oh,” says Terry. “Yeah, he’s a cop. Is that surprising?”

“…Not too surprising, I guess,” Jason says. “Now he can follow all the rules he wants, can’t he?”

“Is that how cops work?” Terry says. Barbara frowns. Terry says, “I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Don’t be a cop,” Jason says. “You’re too good of a Batman. Besides, you might have to arrest me.”

“That would be awkward,” Terry agrees.

“McGinnis,” Bruce says. “What will _you_ be doing?”

“Me and Jay will fill you guys in.” He gestures to Bruce and Tim and Max. “And then I’ll go out. You don’t think crime’s gonna go on hold every time I stub a toe, do you? Someone’s got to protect the city. I’m not letting anyone get the idea that Gotham’s fair game.”

Jason can safely confirm that he is one hundred percent swooning over new Batman.

“No wonder you got the job, McGinnis,” he says.

“Sure,” says Terry, “I’m doing great at it.”

“Hey—I’m going to fill Dick in,” Steph says. “Let me know if you need me. Or—I don’t even know where we’re sleeping.” Steph seems tough, but Jason can forgive her for the way her expression stutters into nothing. That’s what you look like the second you remember your life’s been blown to bits.

“I’ll show you up,” Bruce says, standing stiffly.

Tim tenses. Steph says, “One bed is fine,” as smooth as steel. Jason watches the different, tiny, silent ways that Tim and Bruce react. Jason has never been that subtle. Steph is _cool_ , and the rest of them are one big mess.

Including him. Obviously.

Barbara says, “Well, McGinnis, you don’t need me sticking around, I suppose. I think it’s time to go shake all your tampering out of my police force.” She moves to leave, but pauses at his shoulder. “I know you didn’t want us to figure you out, but I’m sorry we didn’t. You’re a good liar. Don’t keep that up.”

It’s a stupid thing to say to someone who’s Batman, and all of them know it.

“Don’t worry, I’m looking out for him,” Jason says. He probably looks like a creepy interloper who doesn’t have any right to Terry’s feelings or protection or whatever. He doesn’t care. He only cares a little. “Bruce and I are.”

“Oh, well then,” Barbara says wryly. “Take care of yourselves, all of you.” She waves her arm up the stairs. “I’ll come up with you,” she says to Bruce.

When it’s just Jason and Terry and Max, Terry lets out a deep breath and glaces up at them with a wobbly smile. “Could’ve gone worse, huh?” He’s pleased, actually, as much as he can get to that feeling. The planning is easy. Getting people to get along is easier than he expected it to be. But those aren’t the parts Terry has been dreading.

“You’re a _natural_ ,” Jason says. “I thought you never work with people! You know, other than starting sarcasm fights with Bruce and giving Babs migraines.”

“I’ve had friends before,” Terry says. “Normal friends.” He eyes Max. “Mostly normal friends. It’s not like I grew up in some kind of freaky Batman training camp. I know how to talk to regular people.”

“Too bad about the rest of us,” Jason says, a little irked. “I guess that’s why you’re Batman and the rest of us are just washed-up sidekicks with personality disorders.”

“Ohhh,” says Max. “Oh. I am not getting in the middle of this one. See those sexy computers over there? I’m gonna get to know them. You boys feel free to take this to the other side of the cave.”

Terry would rather not. He doesn’t want to have a fight right now, and he so tired he doesn’t know how to avoid it. All he can think to say is, “Hey, good job getting Tim here in one—getting him here okay.”

“You can say it,” Jason says. Then he shrugs. “I didn’t do much. He’s a grownup. He would have got here without us.”

“Being a grownup isn’t that much help,” Terry says. “How many times have you stopped me from losing it? Stupid.”

“Great,” says Jason unhappily. “The last Robin is basically an old guy, and I still get to hang out at the kiddy table and root for the big kids. Well, whatever. Wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“No—” Terry is so tired and so frustrated. Terry’s throat aches. “Don’t be—I don’t think you’re a kid. I don’t make out with kids. I just—listen, I’m trying to keep it together for everyone, but I’m not, okay? I’m not. I need—I just need someone who’s my friend.”

Jason is _this close_ to saying something about Batman, boundaries, and unfair expectations, but Terry isn’t Bruce, and fighting makes Jason feel sick.

“I am,” he says. “I’m your friend, McGinnis. D’you wanna help me look for my suit?” He doesn’t know if he wants to find it, but if he doesn’t do _something_ , right now, he’ll scream.

“Yeah,” Terry says. “Let’s do that. Probably no one else will be in the attic.”

Jason laughs. “It’s a plus,” he says.

“Might be fun to explore,” Terry says as they start up the stairs.

“Fun,” Jason drawls carefully. “McGinnis. I don’t think you’ve met Bruce Wayne.”

“At least it can’t be much creepier than what he keeps down here,” Terry says.

“Huhm,” says Jason.

~

Barbara is gone when they get upstairs, but the entire Robins in Recovery family collective is standing in the hallway having strong personalities.

“I’ll just sleep in the car,” Tim is saying.

“I need my toothbrush!” Damian shouts. “And I have to have my gamebox! I _have to have it!_ No one is listening, and his face is flushing with anger.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce tells Tim. “You can’t sleep in the car.”

“What did I tell you about fun?” Jason mutters. “Jesus.”

“Tim,” Terry starts. Tim whips around.

“Don’t even try to talk to me!” he snarls.

“That’s enough!” Bruce says.

“My _backpack,”_ Damian roars. If anything, Damian about to cry is scarier than quiet, seething Damian. “It didn’t get blown up and I want it before it gets blown up!”

Terry and Tim are sizing each other up. Jason isn’t going to stick his nose in that. He gets closer to Damian. It sucks to be the little guy. Everyone else’s problems are bigger than you.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “We’ll just go get it.” He gives Damian a little smile. “Even if the door’s locked.”

Damian gives Jason a long, narrow look. “You can’t move in with us,” he says.

“What?” Jason says. “Oh, you mean like Dick. Oh, no way. Anyway, I got my eye on Terry.”

“He’s okay,” Damian says, placated. “Can we go now? I want my backpack.”

“I hear ya,” Jay says. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Damian doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who latches onto strangers too quickly, but he’s leading Jason by the sleeve as soon as they’re out the door. Jason has to go a little faster than is actually comfortable. 

“In the back seat,” Damian says, pointing.

“Sweet,” Jason says. Which is a real word. Not any of this _schway_ bullshit.

It’s still easy to jimmy the locks on future cars, at least on not that great future cars, and they have apparently, finally given up on the shitty idea that was car alarms.

“Back here?” he says. He climbs over the seat and reaches for the bag. The blanket draped over the nearer seat slips a little under his hand. He grabs the bag and swings it into the front seat and shoves the blanket back up on the seat. “Here,” he starts, and then he freezes.

His whole body is freezing.

“Hey,” Damian says loudly. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jason says. He can’t look away. He knows it’s the same one. It’s old, and the blood on it is his. His blood. That’s his blood. His old, old blood, right there where he can touch it.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.” Stuck on that word. He opens his mouth to get something else out. Anything else. It just forces its way through. “Nothing.” He backs out of the car. At the last minute, before the bomb, he’d thought maybe he would live.

Something shoves him from behind.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Damian demands. “Give me my backpack. I want to go back.”

Someone shoved him from behind.

The next thing Jason knows, he’s pinning a little kid to the ground with a bloody crowbar at his throat.

“Uh,” says Jason. “Uhm. I.” He can feel the panic rearing up to pull him under. His eyes are already half-blind with tears. Oh, god, oh god, he’s so screwed up, he so screwed up, he’s hurting a kid, he can remember the seconds between knowing he was going to die and blacking out. He can’t remember that, he can’t, he can’t remember, he can’t, can’t. No one will ever let him out the front door like this. He should let go of the crowbar. The Joker has been in the car Jason just drove here. The Joker got that from the cops just for him. Just for Jason.

Damian is very still. “I know martial arts,” he says, his voice shaking. 

“Shit,” Jason says. He has to slow down, he has to _think_. He’s crying. He feels like someone just hit him across the back of the head with—

He forces himself roughly backwards, and slides himself upright against the side of the car. It’s still in his hand and he can’t let go.

“You okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“No,” Damian says obviously. “I didn’t lie. I can kick your ass. What’s wrong with you? What’s that?” He’s staring distastefully at the crowbar.

“I,” says Jason, “it’s.” He looks down at it, heavy in his hand, and starts shaking. Can’t let go. Can’t speak. Can’t get in control. Touching this thing feels like dying again. He can’t feel his arm at all. “Was this in here before?” he asks.

Damian thinks. “Oh,” he says. “Cassie knew. That’s why she and mom were being weird about the car. Do you need a doctor?” 

“No,” Jason says, his voice wavering. “I don’t know.” How is this little kid so put together when Jason’s a total fucking mess and trying to kill him?

In a few seconds, he’s going to totally lose it. That’s the one clear thought. It’s like a tsunami rolling up the beach, and Jason is standing there watching it come. He desperately doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to freak anyone out. He doesn’t want to be put under house arrest. He _wants_ Bruce, except if he got Bruce, Bruce would do everything weird and guilty and distant, and Jason will feel even worse.

Jason is sliding back down into the dirt, arm hanging limply as this stupid thing burns him alive, and he’s crying his eyes out. All he wanted to do was get this poor kid his backpack.

The poor kid sticks his hand out.

“Give me that,” he says. He squats down. “C’mon,” he says.

“I can’t,” Jason says. “You’re just a kid. Your mom’ll kill me.”

“I won’t tell my _mom,_ idiot,” Damian says. “It’s okay. You don’t know me. I’m tough. I’m tougher than _you.”_

“Oh,” says Jason. He pushes his hand weakly forward through the dirt. “Here.”

Damian gingerly takes it from him, and holds onto it. “Is that better?”

“Sorry,” Jason says. “I’m sorry. Can you just…make it go where I can’t see it anymore? It doesn’t have to be far.”

“Hold on,” Damian says. Jason shuts his eyes until Damian comes back, hands dirty but empty. “Good?”

Jason blinks. “Hah. Yes.” It is, actually. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming up behind him, now. As long as he doesn't have to see it.

“Good,” says Damian.

“You’re good in a crisis,” Jason says. “Sorry I flipped out on you. I’m not always such a loser.” He’s shaky as hell and this awful conviction is building up in his gut that says he’s never going to make it, he’s never gonna cut it, he’s going the be the one that fucks everything up. But the panic—that part is better. He can at least hold it together in front of the kid, now.

“Next time you come at me I’ll beat you up,” Damian says. “Do you need a…hug?”

“Nah,” says Jason. He’ll sneak one out of someone else later, someone who doesn’t know why he’s asking. Calm down, calm down. Calm down. Get up, before someone sees. “You’re really okay?”

“Yeah,” Damian says. “Can I have that?” 

The backpack is still sitting on the front seat. 

“Oh,” says Jason. He scrambles to his feet. “Yeah, here you go.” He grabs it and hands it to Damian, slamming the door behind them.

“Thanks,” Damian says. “Go find real Batman or something. I have to do stuff.”

“Which one is real Batman?” Jason has to ask.

“The one who does being Batman,” Damian says, like _this_ is what makes Jason look strange and dangerous in his mind. “The other one is old Batman.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “That’s fair, I guess. Hey, maybe…would it be cool if you didn’t tell anyone how I freaked out?”

That is such a completely shitty thing to ask. Jason feels completely shitty about it as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but he’s so fucking scared of being left behind, of not being able to do anything but scare people.

Damian says, “Why am I going to tell on you? You helped my dad. Anyway, I used to freak out too, when I was really little.”

“Wow,” says Jason. “I’m really glad it was you just now.”

“You wouldn’t have been outside if it wasn’t,” Damian says.

“No, okay,” Jason says. “Fair enough. Let’s go in.”


	18. i'll be as honest as you let me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: descriptions of violence/death

Jason is terrified all the way up the drive that someone has seen everything. But in this whole house full of goddamned superheroes, no one noticed anything. He’s not sure they even noticed he and Damian were gone. Or maybe they weren’t here to begin with. 

Damian, Jason thinks, is more of a grown-up than any of his parents.

He says, “Enjoy stuff,” to Damian. Bruce is opening his mouth to, Jason is pretty sure, say something rude to Terry that Terry can’t handle just now.

Jason says, “Hey!” loudly enough to startle everyone silent. “Fun as this is, I feel like we all have shit to do. Terry, you were gonna come upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Terry says. “Yeah, right. I’m coming. Everyone’s got this, right?”

“Yes,” says Steph, exasperated. “It’s fine. Come on, Tim, we’re going to look at it.”

“ _Fine,”_ Tim says, but as they all three start to follow Bruce up the stairs, Damian says, “Dick can’t go with you.”

“Damian!” Steph says.

“I don’t have to,” Dick says, looking something between confused and hurt. Jason thinks he should probably toughen up, when it comes to the kids. They might like him if he wasn’t such a puppy dog at them. They might not eat him alive.

“Dick has to stay here. I’m going to stay here to watch him,” Damian says.

“I’m going up,” Jason says, and drags Terry up the stairs before they can get caught in the rest of this crowd. It hurts to hurry, but what doesn’t?

They vanish from sight.

“You won’t know where you’re staying,” Steph says.

“Cassie can tell me,” Damian declares. He shoves his bag at his sister. “Put this in our room,” he says.

Cassie’s eyes narrow to argue, but then she looks at the bag, and her mouth makes an o. 

“Okay,” she says. 

“I can stay,” Dick puts in. Damian knew he would. He’s always scrambling to hang out and make nice, like that will trick Damian into liking him. Damian doesn’t have to like him for him to be useful.

“All right, all right,” Steph says, harassed. She puts her hands on Tim’s and Cassie’s shoulders and steers them up the stairs. 

Dick is smart enough to wait until everyone is gone. He says, “What’s this about, huh?” It comes out awkward, of course, too jolly and concerned and hopeful all at once. Probably, if he’s honest, Damian will _never_ like him.

“You’re a cop, so you’ve seen some bad stuff, right?” Damian asks. “You don’t freak out about every little thing?”

“I don’t,” Dick says slowly, although he feels a little nervous that Damian is about to give him a reason to test that claim. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t fix it by myself,” Damian says. “We found something in the car. I don’t know what to do with it. I hid it in a plant.”

“Show me,” says Dick immediately.

Damian’s heart is rattling inside him as he leads Dick out to the hydrangea.

“It’s not a bomb,” he says, before he digs it up. When it’s free, though, he’s still afraid to hand it over. Dick used to know Jason, didn’t he? What if he gets that upset too?

Dick has already seen it, though. For a few seconds, he’s very still.

“Is that the real one?” he asks. Then he shakes his head. “How would you know that?”

“I think so,” Damian says anyway, even though he doesn’t know exactly what _the real one_ means.

Dick shakes his head and takes the crowbar out of Damian’s hand. “You don’t need to hold onto that,” he says gently, but his voice is rough. “Did you say it was in the car?”

“Yeah,” he says. “On the floor, under Cassie’s seat. She must’ve had her feet on it. I think she and mom knew about it.” He stops and bites his lip. 

“Wait,” says Dick. “She didn’t tell you. Who is _we_?” Damian wishes Dick wouldn’t look panicked like that. It makes him uncomfortable, and also like he shouldn’t have let Jason wander away with just Terry before he told anyone what happened.

“Me and Jason,” he says, pretending he’s not catching Dick’s sick feeling.

“Oh, hell,” says Dick, which is as bad as Dick’s cursing has ever gotten in Damian’s hearing. Dick crouches down and puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “You must have done good, because he was okay when you got inside. We didn’t even notice. But it’s all right if you’re upset, and you can tell me if Jay was upset. It would be good if you did.” He takes his hand off again because he knows Damian doesn’t like being touched much, and for once that’s not even more annoying than being touched to begin with. Instead it triggers a fluttering tightness in his throat, and his eyes burn.

“I don’t know if he’s okay,” he says. “He wasn’t okay before. You can’t tell anyone that.”

“Why not?” Dick says.

“He doesn’t want anybody to know,” Damian tells him, and hopes Dick doesn’t pry, because Damian is an awful liar, and if he’s asked pointe blank to explain _what_ Jason doesn’t want anyone to know, probably everyone will.

“All right,” says Dick, frowning. “But I’ll watch out for him. Sound good? And if you’re upset at all, you can come talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Damian says. As the words come out suddenly fire and noises rise up behind his eyes, and Jason crying, and the feeling of hitting the dirt, and his dad’s face when the Joker is mentioned and when he told Mom that the house was gone. It sends a jolt to his lungs that wants to be a sob, and he swallows it hard and stands there with a feeling he can’t hide spread all over his face.

“Everyone is fucked up,” he says, and it tells him how bad the situation is that Dick doesn’t exclaim over his language. “You did all that fighting to make things better, and now you’re all fucked up. And you’re still fighting. It won’t go away.” He afraid, he realizes, that in the next few days, his parents will die. “I don’t want to fight,” he says. He thinks it’s true, it’s not the problem, it’s the closest he can get to getting the problem out.

“Honey, you’re not going to fight,” Dick says. “We’re going to keep you safe. We are. We’re going to get this guy, and we’re going to make sure it sticks, and you and Cassie and all of us are going to make it through just fine. I’m going to keep your mom and dad safe, okay?”

Damian grabs the front of Dick’s shirt and tries not to turn it into something violent. “You better mean it, with them. You better not screw around with them. And you can’t leave just because we’re screwed up. If you say you’re going to protect them and then you give up, I’m going to ki—kick your ass.” 

_Kill_ probably won’t convince him to stay put. If Damian wants him to stay put. He’s just afraid that they can’t do it on their own. If Dick leaves, everything will fall apart. _Especially Dad,_ his traitor brain thinks over and over. He can’t remember dad ever being all that well, but he knows it’s gotten worse. It’s much worse now.

“Are you kidding me?” Dick says. “I love them. I love _you._ Even if you never stop hating my guts. Ask your mom, she knows. I’m not leaving. You’re everything I’ve got, and there’s not something else I want.”

“You can’t love _me_ ,” Damian says. “I hurt people. I’m mean.” He hates to know that he wants Dick to argue with him. It’s true that he hurts people. It’s true that he’s mean. He wants Dick to tell him it’s not. “I’m like your bad guys,” he says.

Dick makes a noise, Damian thinks angry. “You’re not going to turn out like that,” he says. “I don’t think you could ever turn out like that.”

“But I hate you,” Damian tries.

“And I hate that,” Dick shoots back. “But so what? Everyone’s entitled to their own feelings. I wish you didn’t, but if you never like me it’s not going to make you the Joker. You get me?”

Damian is silent for several seconds past when he thinks it’s socially acceptable.

“Actually,” says Dick, “you remind me of Jay. I only knew him because he was up here with Bruce, and he replaced me, and Bruce and I weren’t even talking. But Jay still got to be one of my best friends in the whole world.” Was he now? Maybe. Maybe they haven’t lost everything yet.

“I like him,” Damian says. Jason hurts people, but Dick loves him. Everyone loves him. 

“Me too,” Dick says. “Okay—I’m going to put this back where you had it. When things calm down a little I’ll figure out something more permanent. For now we should get back in there and see if Bruce has worked your parents up to a fit of apoplexy yet.”

“I’ll kill ‘im,” Damian says. “Thanks, Dick.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Dick says.

They bury the crowbar back under the hydrangea. Damian stands up, and has to watch Dick shut his eyes and clench his fist and take a deep, painful breath before he stands. But he does stand. He looks at Damian. “Let’s go help,” he says.

Maybe, Damian thinks, Dick is not entirely bad news.

~

Jason follows Terry upstairs, checking himself over and over for signs of being weird. He’s done breaking down in front of Terry, especially when he’s _so close_ to being allowed out of the house, to do something useful. He hopes Terry doesn't think that quiet Jason is suspicious Jason, because he doesn’t think he can say more than a few words at once without giving himself away.

He wants to go out. He wishes they weren’t looking for his old suit.

 _Hey, that thing is embarrassing,_ he could still say. _Never mind. I’ll just find something sneaky to put on._

He can already hear his voice blaring down the hallway, practically screaming, _I’M CRAZY, I’M A CRAZY PERSON, I PUNCH GLASS AND BEAT UP LITTLE KIDS AND MAKE THEM LIE FOR ME!_

He keeps his mouth shut.

“Attics aren’t my area of expertise,” Terry says. “Any idea which one to start at?”

“This way?” Jason says. He’s guessing at random. Maybe they’ll just run down the clock going from attic to attic and not have to find it at all. “Hey, good work on you and Tim not kicking the crap out of each other. I’m very proud.”

“Hey,” Terry says, raising his hands, “I’m not going to pick a fight with the guy who’s going to find me the Joker. Plus, I know he hates me for wanting to be here. Believe me, I know. Why pick at that scab?” He doesn’t say that any fight he got into just now would go downhill fast. He feels like several kinds of crap.

“Good point,” Jason says numbly. He turns the doorknob to the attic of choice. It’s old, and the knob is ornate for no reason, and he has to turn it a long way around before it releases with a clunk. “He used to keep some villain stuff up here,” he says, climbing the stairs. “You know, not so impressive trophies. Pre-fancy computer files. Maybe that’s where sidekicks who don’t make the cut for a creepy glass case end up, too.” It is unbelievable that his cotton mouth is getting all these words out, but he’ll take it while he can get it.

“Don’t think it’s villains now,” Terry says. “Some of it’s proto-Bruce.” It’s all distressingly well labeled. He knows when he has his hands on a box of Bruce’s childhood toys, and a flat box labeled _suit_ , which seems hopeful, holds a perfectly normal, child-size black suit and several yellowed orders of service from his parents’ funeral.

“What’s down there?” he calls to Jay. 

“High school stuff,” Jason says. “I swear, he’s never thrown a single fucking thing out in his life. Heh—there’s at least one letter from Lex Luthor in here.” He’s momentarily distracted from feeling shitty by remembering that Bruce was a semi-normal teenager at one point.

“What?” Terry says. “What kind of letter from _Lex Luthor?”_

“A sexy letter, obviously.” Jason holds it up. “Feelings and shit. Bruce should really let go of some of this shit.”

“Huh!” Terry says. He nudges a box with his foot. “College papers. Seems like this is all Bruce stuff. Batman stuff somewhere else?”

“There are other attics,” Jason says. “He _would_ put them in two different places. Weirdo.” He wants to stay in here, where it’s musty and dark and it’s all relatively harmless Bruce stuff. It feels alien, but it doesn’t feel bad. Terry, not ready to give up, jump-dances through a tall stack of forty-year-old tax records and grabs at a banker’s box just under the eaves. There’s nothing on top, which is the first time Terry’s seen.

“Ooh-kayy,” Terry says slowly. “One sec.” He bends forward, ignoring his throbbing head, and swipes the lid off the box. Okay. He climbs all the way in and crouches down, thumbing through the top few layers of clippings and stuff, until he finds it. “I guess you’re a Bruce thing,” he says.

“What?” says Jason. Everything inside him seems to squeeze tight, like a dishrag being wrung out right down the center of his body.

“I found it,” Terry says. “I think you’re the only one in here.”

Jason has never been able to make himself believe that the way Bruce felt about him isn’t the way he felt about Dick. But there he is, all alone. He wonders what the hell makes him so special.

“Lucky me,” he says.

Terry grabs the box and wrangles his way out to Jason again. 

“There you go,” he says, holding out the whole box.

“Does it look—okay?” Jason says. He won’t shake, because that would be the start of something bad.

“Oh, god,” Terry says. “Yeah. I mean—let me make sure. Think it’s a spare.” Jason turns around while Terry takes a look. The second he does, he starts to lose it. He can image where the tears are, where the stains would be. Even if it’s a spare, even if it’s clean and fine and all in one piece, it won’t matter, because he has the way it was at the end, the way it must have been afterwards, burned into his eyes, and his eyes will burn it into anything else.

If the Joker fucking took being Robin away from him forever, Jason doesn't know what he’ll do.

“It’s fine,” Terry says. 

“And great beach wear,” Jason says with all his effort. He can’t turn around.

“If short shorts are your thing,” Terry says.

“Uh huh,” Jason says. He can’t do this. Shit, he can’t do this. He could have, earlier today, but not after the car. He can’t even pretend. All he can do is keep them from finding out he went after a kid, or they’ll lock him in the house forever. Maybe Dick and Babs will even arrest him. Ha, ha.

He hears the lid going back on the box, and the box sliding across the floor. Away from him.

“I put it away,” Terry says. “Jay?”

“I want to help,” Jason says. “I can help.”

“I know,” Terry says. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a little much,” Jason says. “Up here.”

“Turn around,” Terry says.

Jason does, hoping he looks okay. “I don’t want to fall apart on you out there.”

“Nobody can promise that,” Terry says. Except they have to, and Jason knows it, because if they fuck up today, Terry’s mother will be dead. Terry will stop having that really good thing that Jason died wanting. He’ll stop having his mother, because _they_ screwed up, and she sounds great, and they kill her, but they’ll hurt her first. So they have to promise that.

“Listen,” Jason says. “Sorry. Let me tell you something. The thing? I think. I think I know what that cop got out of evidence, for the Joker.”

“What?” Terry says. 

“The kids found it,” he says. “In the car. The cr—you know. Big metal stick. I died? Must not have melted. In the fire. They found the crowbar in the car, the one he killed me with.”

“You and Damian weren’t there when I was talking to Tim,” Terry says. “Jay.”

“Damian wanted his backpack,” Jason explains. He tacks on a little smile of apology.

“Sorry,” says Terry. “Excuse me.” Then he turns around, seizes a box of yearbooks, and throws it against the wall. That suit might be high tech, Jason thinks irrelevantly, but Terry is _strong._ The box breaks apart and yearbooks spill jaggedly out of its remains, smashing dents through the tops of other boxes as they fall. 

“Okay now?” Jason asks when the attic is silent again.

“Fine. Sorry,” Terry says.

“Nice to know you have a temper, actually,” Jason says. “I’m okay, though. All right? Damian and I had a talk. Neat kid. I—flipped out on him a little, but it was fine.”

“Jay,” says Terry, “do you remember a lot?”

“I didn’t,” Jason says slowly. “But now I do. Now—pretty much everything.”

The hope was the worst part.

(Was it?)

The hope was the only good part, and it felt worst because it was a lie, and he had to lose it again and again, it refused to die so it kept climbing back up into him, and they just kept smashing it down, and then he knew it was too late. He knew and the hope still flickered there, breathless, and Bruce didn’t come. And then he died, so it died, and that was it.

The hope was absolutely the worst part.

Terry leans forward until Jason is wrapped in his arms. It feels like being held in a bird’s warm wings, light and strong and secret and good. Jason is afraid for a second that he’ll attack Terry, even if he is a kind warm bird, but he doesn’t.

“He’s going to kill me again,” he says, no inflection. Certain.

“ _No,”_ Terry says. His hands slide down to Jason’s wrists and he holds them tightly. He presses Jason back against the uncomfortable attic wall and says, “He won’t. He won’t. You’re going to be safe.”

Jason is so fucking scared. He wants to trust Terry. It’s easier to trust Terry than most people. He’s Batman. He’s a nice, competent friendly guy who is Batman, a guy who wants to make things okay for everyone. 

“It’s okay if you’re a mess,” Terry says, which is godawful, because Jason is trying so hard not to be. “I’m a mess,” Terry adds. “We’re all a mess. This job is not well thought out.”

Jason laughs.

“He’s not going to touch you,” Terry says. Bruce tried to promise that, and he failed. Somehow, though, Jason believes it more coming from Terry. Terry doesn’t hide up in his mansion and brood and scowl and make everything about himself. He just helps.

“Okay,” Jason says. “That sounds good.”

~

When Jason and Terry emerge from their suit-seeking mission (which, in Tim’s opinion, is a terrible idea), they sit down with Tim and Max. It’s Jason and Terry’s job to provide all the known details so that Tim and Max can do _their_ job, but by the time they’ve finished, Tim is numb to the bone. He doesn’t want to know this. He doesn’t want to do it. The part of him that forged boldly ahead when everything was going wrong around him got stripped out of him decades ago. Being here reminds him of every bad thing that’s happened and of every estimable part of himself that he’ll probably never get back.

Except—and this is the only good thing—under the cacophony, there’s a hard little kernel of resolve tightening in his chest. He’s angry, and he’s a father. He used to be a hero. He cannot and will not be the reason the Joker gets what he wants out of all of this.

He and Max go down to the cave when the interview is over. Max takes Bruce’s chair before Tim has a chance. He finds that a little rude, but it also makes him like her.

“Okay, so that’s over with,” Max says. “At least for now. Shall we get to work?” Max isn’t subtle with how she feels about all of this. She could live without Bruce and company’s amassed issues, but something important is going on, and if she’s good at anything, it’s focused problem-solving. She leans back in Bruce’s chair, kind of happy with herself for sitting in it. Whatever, the old guy’s not here.

“We haven’t really met yet,” Tim says. “Maybe we could start there?”

“What? Like normal people?” Max exclaims. “I’m Max. Terry and I went to high school together. I’m pretty sure I know more about him than anyone in the world, and I care more, too. So.”

Tim’s brain instantly gives him, _She’d make a good Robin,_ and he shuts that down fast.

“Tim Drake,” Tim says, and sticks out his hand. Max takes it. She has a good handshake. “I was the third Robin. A long time ago. Terry and I have met. Joker related, of course.” He shifts in his own seat. “That’s the one thing to keep in mind, Max. This isn’t about Terry. It’s not about any of us. There’s only one Batman in the Joker’s eyes, and that is the only thing he’s ever really cared about. It’s just that we’re so often an effective avenue for hurting Bruce, so that piece of shit loves to do it.”

“I’m so glad Bruce has dealt with that, instead of being a giant coward,” Max says.

Tim laughs, almost. “It took me longer to get there. But I guess Terry has always been your Batman.” There’s a pause, like he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Sometimes I wish—” Max starts, but no, she’s not that insensitive. Terry told her what Tim’s _Joker related_ meant. “Never mind. Anyway. I just want to get Terry and his family through this alive and—as okay as possible. Can we do that?”

“I’m a little rusty,” says Tim. “But I used to be good at solving mysteries. I am pretty sure I was the only Robin that was.”

“I don't feel like you have lost your critical eye,” Max says. “Just saying. Plus, you have insight into this fuckhead and _I_ have fresh outside perspective. Dream team.”

Tim hadn’t counted on working with someone who was honestly funny. This time, Tim bites down on his laugh, but it feels more natural. Okay. 

“First things first,” Tim says. “I think we should find out where Jason and the Joker came from. We should double-check Jason’s tissue samples, and perhaps you can try to narrow down when they first appeared in Gotham.” He tilts his head. “Not an easy task, maybe, but you should have tried it forty years ago.”

Max grins. “I have great respect for your kind,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

Talking to Tim one on one is reassuring. He’s really smart, she thinks, and when Bruce and his ten thousand family members aren’t crowding around yelling at him, he actually seems to be able to focus on something other than finding a hole to crawl into and hate people out of. And now, Max gets not only a decent partner, but she gets to play with Bruce’s computer. She’s been wanting to do this for _years_.

They’ve been working awhile in totally okay silence, when Max says, “You do _not_ have to answer, but was there anything good about being a Robin? It just seems like…maybe there wasn’t.”

She doesn’t think he’s going to answer at first. But, “Yes,” he says finally. “It was mostly good. Helping people, stopping bad guys, solving mysteries—being in that much control over my own body…” He has to stop for a second, to be in control again. “Being on his side—it meant more than you would think, now. At the time, it was really worth something. Especially after Jason. Bruce needed…The only bad parts were lying to my father and—well. The things that happen when villains are tired of losing to heroes.” He shrugs. “And I suppose Bruce wasn’t always anyone’s cup of tea.”

Max bites back the impulse to call Bruce an abusive asshole.

“You give me hope,” she says. “Terry’s a good kid, and he rolls with the punches better than anyone I’ve ever met. Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid there’ll someday be one punch too many.” She looks him over. “But you got screwed big time,” she says, “and you’ve got a cool wife and smart kids and a life. Maybe being—” She almost oversteps and assumes more about Tim and Bruce’s relationship than she probably should. “—being around Bruce doesn’t have to destroy their entire life?” 

“ _I_ make you feel better?” Tim says. “All right, then. Well, Dick turned out all right. And Terry’s a good kid. And he’s not Robin.” All he’s felt towards Terry in the last four years is resentment and jealousy, but he knows that’s not fair. Terry _is_ a good kid. “He’s made it longer than the rest of us. You know, to adulthood.”

Max nods. “I’m afraid of what will happen to him if Matt and Mary don’t make it,” she says. She’s afraid of what will happen to her, too. They’re kind of like her family, too, and she sure as hell likes them better than the one she was born into. That, however, isn’t something she needs to talk over with Tim.

“Let’s not find out,” Tim says. “Back to work.”

~

Before he asks if Jay wants to go on patrol, Terry asks Bruce. He’s sitting alone in a big empty room with a bottle of scotch and a half-empty glass.

“Hey,” says Terry. 

“McGinnis,” Bruce agrees.

“Not like you to be out of the action.”

“The action is sitting in my chair,” Bruce grumbles. “I’m taking an hour-long leave of absence.”

Terry grins at him, carefully, and winces anyway.

“Need something?” Bruce asks.

“I think Jason wants to go out,” Terry says. “On patrol.”

“No,” says Bruce.

“Bruce,” says Terry.

“He’s not ready,” Bruce says. His face is stony but his chest tightens with panic. “Terry, he was _never_ ready, and if he wasn't then, he certainly isn’t now. He can’t handle it, and you can’t handle him.”

Terry says, “What do you mean, he was never ready?” He’s ready to spark a fight, but he doesn’t want to.

Since Jason died, Bruce hasn’t wanted to say anything ugly about him. He hasn’t wanted to criticize. Jason has been getting better and better in his head for years, until his only flaw was being too brave, right at the end. But it isn’t true, and he’s here again, and he can die again. So can other people. Bruce should not repeat his mistakes.

“He was reckless,” Bruce says. But it’s not enough. “He—used excessive force. More times than I can count.”

“How excessive is excessive?” Terry asks. “You keep being vague.”

“He liked weapons,” Bruce says, carefully not thinking about his words before he says them. “He broke a man’s legs with a crowbar, once. More than once I believe he would have killed someone.”

He remembers Jason’s face, clouded with confusion and rage as he tried and failed to understand why Bruce was angry.

Terry is silent. “Seems like something you could have told me earlier,” he says. “You know, in human words.”

“Sorry.”

“So he’s not dedicated to your no-kill policy,” Terry says. “Why?”

“He saw worse things growing up than either of us,” Bruce says, which is a large thing to say and something he doesn’t like to admit, for the sake of his own nightmarish memories. “He’s angry. And,” he repeats the old half-truth, “he cares more about revenge than justice.”

Terry finds that the last part makes him—angry. More angry, the more he chews on it. “And you don’t?” he asks.

“Of course not,” Bruce says, but it doesn’t work on either of them.

“Revenge doesn’t have to be murder,” Terry points out. “You don’t have to be a killer to care about revenge.”

“There are lines you can cross and still live with yourself,” Bruce snaps. “I’m not talking about killing someone like the Joker, here.”

“Bruce, you can’t keep him in forever,” Terry says. “He wants to help. You’re telling me not to start in the kiddy pool? You really just want me to throw him right into the middle of this disaster?”

“Send him with Stephanie, like you planned,” Bruce says. “She’ll understand him. If you have to go out tonight, you should have all your attention on yourself.”

“I’m not going to get killed,” Terry says angrily. He didn’t mean to be angry.

“That’s a very stupid thing to promise,” Bruce says harshly. He’s not the kind of person who panics, but now he is. His house is full of his failures, and they are throwing themselves into danger again and again.

“Bruce,” Terry says, “I’m not leaving, okay?”

“That’s not the point,” Bruce says, and it’s not, even though it’s a fear he has been harboring. “He shouldn’t be out there at all.”

“Sometimes,” Terry says, “you should hear the way you talk about us.”

Bruce isn’t the kind of person who says anything, when someone walks out on him with a line like that. He wishes he was, just in case. He’s begun to feel that every time someone leaves a room is the last time he’ll see them alive.

~

Terry thinks it will be hard to tell Jason he can’t come along, but he sees Jason’s face as he stares into the mirror, a pile of discarded clothes building up behind him.

“You know,” says Terry, “Steph is better at teamwork. Do you want to warm up with her instead?”

Jason looks at him. 

“You can wait,” Terry says. “You can go with her on recon.”

“That’s very nice. Unless Bruce,” Jason guesses, “told you not to bring me because I’m a homicidal freak.”

“He did say something like that, yeah,” Terry says. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he can’t say he’s thrilled with this revelation, either. Maybe he needs a night off. “But I figure I can watch you myself, and decide about you for myself. He forgets that kind of thing still. Sometimes.”

Jason’s eyes cloud over.

“You like the outfit?” he asks. Black jacket, black jeans, black boots, red hoodie.

“You need something for your face,” Terry says.

“Duh. Working on it,” Jason says. “Gotta say, this is cooler than anything I expected to find.”

“Can’t slam my fashion sense,” says Terry.

“You dress like an old man most of the time,” Jason says. “Half this shit is mine. Went back up to the attic while you were learning about what a hideous murdering creep I am.”

Terry is quiet.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason says. “I didn’t do anything Bruce hasn't done. He just makes it sound worse than it is because I’m supposed to be—I was supposed to make him look good,” Jason stumbles. “Fucking cherub floating along playing the fucking harp for a fucking avenging angel.”

“Did you really hurt people?” Terry asks.

“You don’t? Fuck you,” Jason says. “Jesus Christ. Do you ever get the feeling that you should’ve stayed dead?” He’s looking blankly at himself in the mirror, suddenly someone uncool and unfamiliar and most of all, unclean. 

“I do,” Terry says. “Hey, Jason.” His fingers brush Jay’s.

Jason relaxes.

Then Terry is behind him. Terry is still that soft, warm bird, and Jason doesn’t feel like he’s choking on disgust when he puts his arms around Jason. Jason would be able to feel that, wouldn’t he? He’s so close.

“You can come with me,” Terry says. “If you want to.”

Jason wants to punch his way through a pile of thugs and that, he thinks, is exactly what makes people curl their lips up at him. Shame and anger burrow their way into his gut.

“I want to stay in,” he says. “I can hang out with the kids or something.” 

Terry laughs. “Poor Jay,” he says. “When I get home, can you make me cocoa?”

“McGinnis,” Jason says, “that is literally the worst pity prize I have ever heard of.”

“But will you make me cocoa?” Terry asks.

“Yes, you asshole,” Jason says. “I’ll make your fucking cocoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, WE ARE BACK. SORRY IT WAS A YEAR.


	19. come hell or high water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: underage sex, absolute nonsense science

Terry doesn’t stay out long. He knows perfectly well he’s at the end of his resources, and the only reason he goes out at all is to fight against a thing he knows is happening, which is that people in Gotham think Batman isn’t a threat anymore. If Batman still exists at all. The net is speculating, and the news is, too. If he’s honest, professional pride alone would put him back on the streets, but it’s knowing other people might pay if he doesn’t get out there that really gets him out there. He relents and asks Bruce to get on the portable comm, and Bruce has the decency not to fret or bring up anything Terry would find distracting. An hour out, he stops a couple little things, and then he goes home.

“Can you tell Jay I’m heading in?” he asks. Bruce does have a small tantrum, then, a few seconds long and the loudest silence imaginable.

“I’ll let him know,” Bruce says stiffly. There _is_ cocoa when Terry comes up from the cave, and it’s still hot.

“Thanks,” he says fervently. He takes one sip and sighs happily at Jason. 

“You look _so beat,_ ” Jason says.

“Really?” Terry says ironically, indicating his entire bruised self, and it’s unfunny enough that Jay kind of wants to lock Terry in his bedroom and not let him out until everything is fixed and he’s slept for a week.

“Hah,” he says.

Terry shuts his eyes. “I need a shower,” he says.

“Shit,” says Jay. “I shouldn’t of made cocoa yet.”

“I need cocoa and then a shower,” Terry amends. 

They sit on Terry’s floor until Terry’s cup is drained, and Terry leaves Jason there while he goes to wash up. He comes back not wearing a shirt yet, which is _not fair,_ but also, there are scars. Jason tries not to stare hard enough to date them all.

The newer ones are too obvious not to see.

“I should go to bed,” Jason says. “Uh—” He definitely does not feel that he should go to bed, but the only other things in his head are _please let me fuck you_ and _please don’t die_. Neither one is a great thing to say out loud.

“Good idea,” Terry says wearily. “I checked in with Max and Drake. On the way up. Nothing happening tonight.”

“Okay,” Jason says. Then he realizes that no, that is not what he wants to do at all. He’s not going to wander off like a docile little kitten just because Terry’s state of health puts him on edge. He gets up and sits himself on Terry’s bed, legs hanging down.

_Please let me fuck you._

_Please don’t die._

_I’m not that bad._

He says, stupidly, “Bruce didn’t make you scared of me, did he?”

Terry is quiet for a second, which is a second too long. He says, in a mumble that’s getting worse the longer he’s awake, “Not scared of you. But if he’s telling the truth, are you sure you should be out there?”

It’s a needle to the heart. Jason says, hurt and a little pissed, “I was a really good Robin, you know.”

“Fine,” Terry says. “But how did you feel when you hit people?”

Surge of anger. “I don’t know. Good. Is that what you want? It felt good. Why do _you_ do it?”

“To help,” Terry starts.

“And you hate every second of it,” Jason finishes angrily.

“No,” Terry says. “But I keep my cool.”

“Oh, okay,” Jason says, digging his fingers into the blankets. “You’re just a perfect hero from a nice middle-class family who is never selfish at all. You’re just so fucking noble.”

“My family’s not that rich,” Terry says immediately, and Jason’s blood boils.

“Yeah, I bet you went hungry all the time growing up,” Jason snaps, even though it’s never worth it explaining to people who aren’t rich that they’re not poor. And they’re talking about Jason not pulling enough punches. What is Jay going accomplish by explaining what poor really means except to convince Terry that poor people really _are_ violent thugs?

But Terry looks aghast, and then ashamed. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, it was a reflex. It’s relative. I shouldn’t have said that. I _didn’t_ go hungry.” Terry suspects that’s a major understatement, in the difference between what he had as a kid and what Jason did, but he can’t pick it apart this second. 

“Great,” Jason says.

“I’m sorry,” Terry says. He’s in a bad position now, if Bruce is right at all about Jay going too far. He can’t entirely care, though, because he wants one thing to be smooth and not a disaster, and this is the thing in front of him he has a chance to fix. What he wants to ask is if it’s really okay to take someone who grew up surrounded by bad things happening and throw him into the middle of bad things just like them, and expect them to keep their head on straight. There are about twenty delicate questions that could start a conversation about that, probably, but Terry mostly does straightforward, and he can’t see straight enough right now for even that much.

“Can you believe me,” he says, “if I say you and I are all right? I want to talk to you and not suck at it. About the big deal stuff. Can you wait on that?”

Jason clenches his teeth and tries to be reasonable. He looks straight at Terry and _thinks_ about what is happening that will make it impossible for Terry to have a delicate conversation and come out not looking like an asshole. Many things.

“It’s okay, McGinnis,” he says. “But if you’re still a fuckhead when you’re all fixed up, I reserve the right to kick your ass.”

“I’ll try hard,” Terry says wearily, which could be flippant, but Jason thinks he means it.

“Okay,” he says. “As long as you stop looking at me like you’re scared I might attack you.”

Terry actually looks hurt at that, not offended, but hurt, a startled look that happens all at once, and then seeps deeper and deeper into his face.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says. He’s on the edge of collapse. Jay knows that feeling, when the only thing you’ve got under control is your own expression, and someone tells you that you’re even fucking that up.

He says quickly, “Christ, McGinnis, I’m surprised we haven’t had to put you back in the hospital. Lie down and I’ll give you a back rub.”

Terry gives a little embarrassed laugh. It doesn’t mix well with his still-distressed, beat up face.

“I mean it,” says Jason. “It’ll help you relax.”

Terry is still wary and embarrassed, but he does lie down. It takes him a number of tries to lay his face somewhere that doesn’t hurt, and Jason winces every time Terry does. Then he’s still, and the only thing moving is Jason’s stomach, doing backflips in his gut.

“Is it okay to be touching you?” he asks. He forgot for the second he was asking that Terry’s half naked already.

A pause. “It’s okay,” Terry says, muffled, and Jason has to lean over him like a bendy monkey and stare into his half-hidden face until Terry will _look_ at him.

“Okay-okay or you’ll put up with it okay?” he asks, a little roughly.

Terry relaxes. “Okay-okay,” he says, like being asked has made it so.

Jason nods, ignoring his swooping stomach. When his hands touch Terry’s bare back (where some of the scars are, but his skin is so damn soft), he feels electric up to the elbows. He tries really, really hard not to be sixteen. It’s almost a good thing that Terry’s sighs of relief sound so damned upset. Jason takes care not to look at his face again.

Eventually he says, “I’m gonna help you win. Even if I can’t—” Leave the house. Punch bad guys responsibly. Get within a half a mile of the Joker without melting down.

Terry makes a noise and distracts Jason from what could be a really spectacular downward spiral. Terry says, “It’s like my dad again.”

“What?”

“It’s like my dad again,” Terry repeats. “Except I could have done something.”

“God, do I ever get that,” Jason says. “But it’s not your fault. And we’ll get them back, so it won’t matter.”

“You mean that,” Terry says. He twists around without sitting up or throwing Jay off. “You think we will.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I think we’re gonna get them back. Just ’cuz we keep getting our asses handed to us doesn’t mean we can’t beat him.”

“Oh,” Terry says with a wobbly smile. “Neat.” He turns back, and Jay puts his back into kneading muscles, working out knots and coaxing little moans and sighs out of Terry’s throat.

At last, the _sixteen, so very sixteen_ part of Jason pushes everything else aside and says, “McGinnis, can I kiss you? I’m fifty-six or I’m emancipated, either way, I don’t think Dick will arrest you.”

Terry snorts. 

“Yeah?” Jay checks.

Terry pushes Jay off so he can roll over, and then pulls him back down. Jay makes a smug noise, kisses him carefully, then slides his hand to the back of Terry’s head and tugs his hair, just a little. Terry does exactly what Jason hopes for, and goes limp, except his nipples are hard, when when Jason checks, his dick is, too. He looks surprised to be going down so easy. Jason grins.

“Told you I could make you relax,” he says.

“Mmm,” Terry says. He’s dazed and bruised, and for a second Jason feels guilty of taking advantage. When he pulls back, though, Terry says, “I know how I look. Don’t stop.”

Jason’s breath catches, and then he puts his whole body into it, kissing harder, pressing his stomach against Terry’s, teasing his nipples with nails and teeth and hot breath.

Terry makes a good sound, good but on the edge of overwhelmed.

“Only as far as you want,” Jason promises breathlessly. “But that can be whatever you want.” Just imagining getting inside him makes Jason shiver and moan. He digs his fingers into Terry’s hipbone and bites below his collarbone. Fuck, he’s missed this.

“Wanna jerk me off?” Terry asks, breathless back. He’s not coy at all, and Jason can’t handle it. Someday Terry will say something about rimming and Jason will have a heart attack.

“Of fucking course,” he says. He drags Terry’s pants down around his knees, pinning him flat with his other arm.

“Jay,” Terry says. “I’m not Bruce.” 

For a second, Jason thinks he’s revoking permission, that this is the age thing, a thing Terry is decent enough to worry about and maybe too decent to get around. Jay really, really hopes not. 

Then Terry says, “I’m not scared of you. I’m not mad. It’s everything else.”

Jason rethinks his full body enthusiasm. He leans in to kiss Terry’s bottom lip, gently. He reaches down and squeezes and runs his fingers upward. He eases off his own pants. Terry goes limp and writhing, and Jason’s heart twists in his chest. This is going to be a boyfriend thing, isn’t it? If Terry doesn’t flip out afterwards, this is _definitely_ a boyfriend thing.

It makes him relax, and then he’s having fun. There’s no power play, no ugliness, just taking care of someone he likes. It feels good. He leaves Terry satisfyingly wrung out, sticky, wet, and sprawled across the bed. If they were in a slightly different place, this is exactly when Jay would fuck him. Instead, he jerks himself off on Terry’s stomach, and flops down next to him. Then they’re messy, breathless, and anxious, but Terry says, “Thanks,” in this light voice that Jason thinks might hold just a hint of who he is when everything’s not falling to pieces. 

“I boyfriended the fuck out of you,” Jason rasps from beside him. He feels slow, which he told Terry didn’t happen.

“Mm,” Terry says, but Jason doesn’t mind. People are allowed to think about things, before they fucking propose or whatever.

They’re quiet awhile, and then Jason says, “The bad stuff? That Bruce was talking about?”

“Hm?”

“It’s just really hard not to take people out there personally,” he says, before he has decided if he wants to. “I—okay. Maybe I fuck up. Maybe I’m not that nice to people I don’t like. It’s just—what they do hurts people, and it’s _my_ people.”

Terry’s eyes are half-closed, but he’s paying attention.

“It’s me,” Jason says, and swallows. That’s only half the truth, and Terry catches on to lies too fast. “But I get pissed, you know, because I could be them. I could be the bad guy.” His mouth feels numb by the end of the sentence. He hasn’t said it before. He hasn’t ever suggested that his going too far is to show he’s not them, and that going too far does the opposite, in the end. This is the kind of admission that gets you sent away.

Terry tugs his pants up his hips. 

“You don’t have to go out,” he says slowly. 

“I’m gonna help,” Jason answers quickly.

“Okay,” Terry says. “But there’s other stuff you can do. After this.”

No one has ever suggested that there’s anything else he can do. Not even Bruce. Everything Jason has done, he’s picked for himself, and then he’s thrown himself at it hard enough that no one can stop him.

“Do you know how much better you are than anything else I’ve had?” he asks.

“Oh,” Terry says. Maybe that was a little much. Dial it back, Todd.

“I just mean you’re barely selfish at all,” he says. “You know. For heroes, we kind of suck at putting other people first.”

“You do all right,” Terry says. “All things considered.”

“Aw, shucks,” says Jason. But he decides to accept that it’s true, which makes it okay to selfishly keep Terry to himself until Terry falls asleep.

~

They sneak into the bathroom to clean themselves up, and then sneak back to bed. Terry sleeps for about twenty minutes, and then a text from Max jolts him awake again. 

_Got something for Jason,_ it says. _Come down if you’re awake!_

“I am awake,” Terry mumbles sadly, which rouses Jason as well. “Come on,” Terry says. “I think they took the first step to finding out where you came from.”

Jason is on his feet. “I’m up!” he says. 

“Don’t worry,” Terry says. “If you’re a mutant slime monster spliced together from Batman and Joker DNA, I will be just as creeped out as you are, but you’ll still be cute.” He gives Jason’s sleeve a tug. “Come on.”

“You are so weird,” Jason says. “So weird and so sweet. Sweet and weird.”

In the cave, Tim is drinking from a bottle of orange juice and staring at the computer screen. He looks happier than he before.

“That’ll give you acid reflux,” Jason says, before he thinks better of it.

“Then it’ll keep me awake,” Tim says. It’s impossible to tell if he’s deadpan or humorless.

Max is perched on the console.

“Good news? Or research high?” Terry asks.

“Hard to say,” says Tim. Jason’s stomach flips.

“The long and short of it,” Max says, “is that you’ve been—okay, you are genetically _you,_ with some scarring, I guess you could say, on your DNA. I have no idea—but basically, you’re a little older than you should be, and it makes _no_ sense that you have come back with all your memories if you’re a clone, so it seems like they really just—uh. They maybe just rebuilt you? According to Dr. Thompkins, there’s some synthetic compounds in the tissue samples. We aren’t sure what they’re there for—to replace lost tissue or support growth, maybe.”

Jason tries not to acknowledge the blood rushing from his head straight into his feet, but he does suddenly feel detached from the idea of being upright. Terry sees and leans him against the console, his hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason is grateful, but all his energy goes into carefully not understanding the specifics of what Max has just said.

“Also,” Tim says, “there’s an atomic signature on you. You’re not a forgery, but it seems that someone wanted to quietly credit themselves for patching you up.”

“I’m still _me,_ right?” Jason asks shakily.

“Does it feel like anything’s missing?” Tim asks. “Aside from the last few weeks?”

Jason shudders. “No,” he says. “I wish.”

“So does that mean someone got ahold of his body?” Terry asks. “Did they get ahold of the Joker’s?”

“I don’t know what Bruce did with it,” Tim says. “Or how exactly they did _this_ with it.”

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Jason says quickly. “I’m alive. I have my memories. I’m not evil. I might not even be sixteen! That’s great, isn’t it? Fucking awesome. Someone did me a favor.” He tries not to imagine what he’s expected to give back, considering the whole Joker situation.

“So now we just have to figure out who’s signing resurrected people’s DNA and track them down,” Max says. “A cinch, huh? And they _should_ be able to tell us how to look after you, too.” _Should_ sounds like there’s an iron fist right behind it.

“I’m sure anyone who would bring the Joker back to life and drop Jason in the middle of Gotham is an entirely reasonable human being,” Tim says. Hurtling past deadpan, straight into cynical. He makes Jason tired. “But I’m even more sure we can make them see reason.”

And Jason loves him.

“You go on patrol?” Max asks Jason.

“Naw,” he says. “I hung out with the kids. Read a book.” Stared at a comic book from forty years ago and didn’t pick up a single word, but same difference.

“Maybe I should be Robin,” Max says musingly.

“Position’s open, I think,” Jason says.

“Kidding,” says Max. “If you all quit, I am skipping right over Robin and going full Batman. Except maybe a better animal than a bat. Hawks eat bats, right?”

“There already was a Hawkgirl,” Jason says. "You missed her."

“Shows you how much I paid attention in history class,” Max says sweetly. 

It’s a pretty solid hit. He acknowledges it with his eyebrows, and then says, “You don’t have to put all this work into me. If it won’t help us get the Joker, don’t bother. We’re on the clock, right?”

Tim is looking at him with the world’s most uncomfortable expression. “Jason Todd, the ‘bad’ one.”

"Eh," Jason says.

“It’ll probably help,” Max says. “And there are plenty of people to cover our other bases. And, side note, I don’t think anyone considers you an acceptable loss.”

“That's sweet,” Jason says.

“Meanwhile, we’re going to start checking patents on the compounds,” Max says, holding up a piece of paper and waving it at them.

“Go team,” Jason says. “Turns out they’re pretty useful after all, huh, McGinnis?” He gives Terry’s hand a squeeze before he remembers not to, and sees Tim’s eyes flick towards them and away. Terry takes his hand back and crosses his arms.

“Now we just need a search party,” Terry says.

“Steph,” Max says. “Obviously. Cass, Damian—” She holds up her hands fast, and says loudly, “It’s called a joke, Mr. Drake!”

Tim, to Jason’s great surprise, gives Max a tiny, wry smile. “Hilarious. But we’re out of the business, and the kids are never getting into it.”

“Yeah,” Jason says coolly. “Steph seems _way_ out of it.”

“Hmm,” Tim says, but he doesn’t freak out. Is Batmanning mellowing him out after all, or is he just way more chill than everyone led Jason to believe?

“Well, there’s Dick to keep the kids off the street,” Max says.

“The real reason we include him,” Tim says.

“Is that, like, standard these days?” Jason asks. “A bonus live-in babysitter for sex and reassurance?”

Tim goes incredibly still in the way only people trained by Bruce do. Jason wonders for a second if Tim will hit him.

But no, Tim just says, coldly, “No, having _two partners_ isn’t standard.”

Jason has a joke about Robins all ready, but then he realizes he’s being a complete tool to someone he doesn’t know, for no better reason than that he’s overtired and freaked out about being a science experiment.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t want--Look, Dick’s great. And he makes a great boyfriend. I’m sure you guys have a good thing going. I didn’t mean anything.”

“But you said it,” Tim says. “Don’t say it again.”

Jason nods. Not _that_ chill, then. He’s going to have to check himself a little better if he wants to be friends with Tim.

“And this is why we don’t place dead teenagers on pedestals,” Max says lightly. Tim relaxes.

“Since when are you two best buddies?” Terry wonders.

“It happened sometime in the last five hours,” Max says, thoughtful. “Somehow we were drawn to one another. Maybe it was the science, or the being better than everyone…”

“Hoo boy,” Terry says. “I am going to bed. As much a waste of resources as that feels like.”

“Being in the field when you’ve only had an hour’s sleep is a waste of resources,” Tim tells him. “Trust me, I get it. But you need to be sharp. Give it a REM cycle, at least. We’ll stay up.”

~

When they're gone, Tim says, “He’s a good kid.”

“Oh,” says Max, “I know.”

“We’ve got to make this work.”

“I know.”

“We need to make sure that everyone’s okay when this is over.”

“No biggie,” says Max. “We’ll just do that, then.” But she smiles at him. She’s not as jaded as these capes. She has hobbies that aren’t crime _or_ weird relationships. She sometimes even goes outside during the day. She figures that she’s an important element in this operation, because she is the only one whose perspective isn’t completely shot.

“You’re not kidding, are you, when you say you want to be--one of them,” Tim says. “Not entirely. You enjoy this.” He’s proud of not sounding accusatory.

“Of course I’m not kidding!” Max says. “I offered for real, before I went to college! It was bat cave or ivy leagues. Terry turned me down, the jerk, but it’s not like I never helped him before I left town.”

Tim manages not to say anything too bitter. “He’s better,” he says. “I mean--his way of being Batman, I don’t think it has to end in disaster. And he and Jason are _almost_ the same age.”

“I don’t ask,” Max says quickly. “About whatever the Terry and Bruce thing is. I just—is that a freaky tradition that guy has, or _what_?”

“Shit,” Tim said. “For what it’s worth, until just now I thought it must have ended with Jason.” Now he can’t help sounding a little bitter.

“I don’t think that speaks poorly of you,” Max remarks. “And the guy was alone for a really long time. And Terry is stubborn as hell.”

“At least it doesn’t seem to have harmed Terry,” Tim says. “At first glance.” If there’s a safe kind of contact with Bruce, Tim’s not the one to ask about it. That doesn’t mean he isn’t jealous. He doesn’t know why Terry and not him, why any of them and not him. He can guess, but he won’t.

Max pulls a face. "Little Jay might be jailbait and kind of a loose cannon, but I don’t hate this nearly as much. Sorry the old man's miserable and all, but if your solution to your life problems is to dress up like a bat and have sex with high school boys, you kind of bring it on yourself when things don't get better." She taps Tim's leg with the toe of her sneaker again. "I wouldn't worry about it. You've got a better thing going on, these days. Four doses of extra cute."

Tim rolls his eyes. “So now I just have to worry that Terry is the next Bruce. Wonderful.” But she’s right about his family, and he is beaming.

“Patents!” Max says. “If we’re quick, maybe we can take two research road trips in one night!”

“Too old for this,” Tim complains. He hasn’t had this much fun in years. He tries not to see it as a bad sign.

“If we do good, you can go back into retirement tomorrow, sir!” Max says cheerily.

“Humph,” says Tim.


	20. cause we don't know how to quit, no, no

Terry wakes up too soon and too fast, with his phone blaring in his ear. Jason is next to him, up in the same second. Terry fumbles his phone to his ear.

“Who is--?” Terry starts, and Bruce’s voice interrupts, and he’s barely started to ask why before he hears Steph, too. And then they’re all interrupted.

“Good morning, kiddos,” the Joker hisses. “Thought I’d call and congratulate you on your little joke.” He sounds angry. That’s not right. Terry doesn’t want him angry.

“Hello?” says a woman’s voice. Older woman. Barbara. 

“So now we’re all here,” the Joker says. “How about you all turn the volume up loud? Wouldn’t want anyone left out. Can’t forget to cross and dot all our Robins, can we?” Terry eyes Jason, and puts his phone on speaker.

Jason scrambles upright and perches next to Terry, horribly awake and alert.

“Joker,” Terry says.

“Why, that’s right,” the Joker says, hissing out the words. Jason’s fingers dig into Terry’s shoulder. “No question about it! The question is...where is your little family, McGinnis?”

“Shit,” Jason whispers. “Shit, shit, shit.” Everyone else is silent, as if they’re afraid even to breathe. 

“Explain,” says someone. Dick. Thank god for Dick. He was never as afraid as the rest of them.

“What I’d like to know is, _where did they go?”_ the Joker shouts. “You couldn’t have found them here! Not like that.”

There’s a silence, which Terry breaks. 

“Did you-- _lose_ them?” he says. His voice sounds to everyone something between delighted and sick.

The Joker doesn’t answer.

“You’re not joking,” Bruce says incredulously. “You _lost them.”_

“Who’s joking? Oh, I’m sure you have them safe and sound in that nice mansion of yours,” the Joker says. “All right! Game over! You win. Beautifully done, let’s play another round later. Now, could you just let me in on _one_ little secret? _Where is old Harley?”_

The Joker sounds like he’s losing it. Maybe he didn’t come back quite right, or maybe, Terry thinks, this is just what happens when his plans don’t work.

His gut squeezes itself silly. His mom—Matt. If they’re not with the Joker, _where are they?_

“We don’t need to tell you anything,” Bruce is saying. “Your move, Joker.” But he sounds distressed, and the Joker hears it.

The Joker hesitates. “But you would never take a hostage,” he says slowly. “Not the Bat.”

“I’m not Batman anymore, and things have changed,” Batman says. “I’m done with you.” Jason wonders if any of them are trying to trace the call, or if they’re all paralyzed. He wonders if Harley took Terry’s family somewhere. He wonders why she would.

“You _never_ change,” the Joker says. Then furiously, “Of course you’re Batman, you old geezer! If you think you could be anything else, you’re the biggest joke of all!”

“And what are you?” Bruce asks. “From where I’m standing, you haven’t scored one win against me.”

The Joker laughs, more confidently. “You of all people should know you don’t need dead bodies to suffer casualties! Your whole life is one big failure, Batman. One little acolyte after another, beaten into the dust. It’s your hands that have the blood on them, you know. I bet you can’t even stand looking at most of ‘em!”

The worst thing about the Joker is that ultimately, he _does_ know Bruce. When Bruce goes quiet, Jason says loudly, “You missed the fucking point. You’re so obsessed with Batman that you keep getting distracted while the rest of us _win.”_

“Oh, middle Robin,” the Joker says dismissively. “What are you good for? Should I break that pretty mouth of yours again and put a stop to those inane speeches you’re so fond of? They’re just not cute coming out a piece of trash that I put down like a dog.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says. “I’m actually doing pretty damn well. You, not so much. You’re losing it.”

“You always were a brat,” Joker growls. “So, you don’t have Harley. That means you don’t have mommy and kid brother, either. Well, that makes a new game. Finders keepers, boys and girls. You might not think I’m much to look at, these days, but don’t you worry. I still know how to find people. I still know how to kill people. It’s really not that hard.”

The line disconnects. 

Terry looks dizzily at Jason. 

“Let’s go,” Jason says. “Come on, Max, Tim, and Bruce can do their things from here, and we can get out there and look, for him and for them. Okay?”

“We should talk,” Terry says. “To everybody. Hold your horses, Jay.” He gets out of bed okay, has a moment of hesitation about getting naked in front of Jason, for some reason, and then changes anyway. He can’t aspire to more than pants and a t-shirt. He puts on his shoes, too, so he doesn’t feel like he’s losing.

Jason changes as fast as he can, stealing one of Terry’s shirts. He doesn’t want to say anything hopeful, in case whatever comes next goes badly. “Ready,” he says, patting Terry’s arm.

It’s not surprising that everyone has headed to the cave, although it _is_ surprising that it’s truly everyone. Damian and Cassie are wearing twin expressions, rocky and immoveable; their parents look harassed. 

“What do you think Harley is doing?” Terry asks first thing.

“She may have moved them, if she became disillusioned with the Joker,” Bruce says. “She’s done things like that before, and he can’t have been paying much attention to her lately.”

Tim, white and shaking and gripping Steph’s hand, says, “Tried to track him, but I was too slow.”

“You did fine,” Dick says, putting his hand on Tim’s neck. “Better than any of us did. Anyway, where he is matters a lot less than it did an hour ago.”

“Do you think Harley’s still got her creepy grandkids with her?” Max asks. “Because I can see it if there’s three to one, but if Harley’s on her own, no way Matt and Miz McGinnis wouldn’t be enough to take her.” At Terry’s expression, she says, “What, you’ve never seen your mom take down a supervillain? You better believe she could.”

“If they’re out there on their own,” Bruce says, “they might try to come here.”

“There are more of us than the Joker,” Jason says. “We should go out there and try to cover some ground.”

“We can use the cops now!” Terry realizes. “I mean, if it’ll help. He doesn’t have Matt and mom, so he can’t do worse than what he’s already doing.”

“Unless he grabs someone else while they’re _covering some ground,”_ Damian’s small voice wanders up belligerently. He’s eying Jason in particular, which makes Dick wince. Sometimes it would be helpful if Damian was less observant. Or at least less interested in employing all angles of attack.

“He’s right,” Tim says quickly. “Splitting up would be--”

“Terry,” Bruce says, “what do _you_ think?”  
Everyone looks a little stunned, like they’ve never heard Bruce defer to anything before.

“We’ll call Barbara,” Terry says. “She’ll send out whoever she can to sweep the city for mom and Matt. We can focus on the stuff they might be able to do--Max and Tim are finding out where the Joker came from. The rest of us—me, Jay, Steph and Dick—can run spot searches for Matt, mom, and all three Quinns where we think they’re most likely to show up.” He tightens his jaw. “And we can hunt the Joker down.”

“Hunt?” Dick says. He thinks he understands, but he wants to be clear. It wasn’t always clear with Bruce--although maybe the ambiguity was just his wishful thinking.

“I mean the police will be looking the other way, and you should probably take another detail,” Terry says.

“I don’t,” Tim starts, but he cuts himself off, either because he’s letting Terry make the calls or because he just can’t handle the argument.

“Where’s Dick going?” Cass asks, and looks embarrassed when everyone notices her.

“What do you mean?” Terry asks.

Cassie hesitates. “I just--want to check.”

“We’re okay,” Steph says. She puts her hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re all being careful.” She forces a smile. “Dick’s more spry than he looks, hon.”

Dick waves that aside. “Nobody’s going to be alone,” he says. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s going to have someone looking after them. And like you’re mom said, I’m in pretty good shape for an old geezer..”

“Okay,” Cassie says quietly. “And Damian can’t go.”

“Of course not!” Steph says,. “You kids stay with your dad.” She gives Tim’s hand a squeeze.

“I didn’t even _want_ to go,” Damian mutters, turning away from Steph’s stern look.

“Where do you want me?” Jason asks. He’s not scared, now, but is ready to stop standing around. He was always bad at the waiting.

“Preferably? I’ll take Steph, and you can go with Dick,” Terry says. “But only if you’re up for it. I mean it, Jay.”

“I am,” Jason says. He kind of can’t believe Terry wants him. 

“Then we’re good,” Terry says. “If that works for everybody?”

Dick casts a worried look at the kids, and then at Tim.

“No,” Tim says in answer to them both. “None of this _works_ for me. But it’s not my family that’s missing.” 

Terry looks momentarily stumped. 

“How about,” he says. “Um, how about everyone else?”

“It’ll work,” Dick says reassuringly. “And I already know Jay and I make a good team. So--we’ll focus on Harley and the granddaughters from Hell.”

“And Tim and I will hunt down some genetic engineers,” Max says.

“And I’ll monitor everyone from here,” Bruce says. “You can all call in if you need anything.” He nods to Terry. “Thank you. It’s a good plan.”

Cassie bites her lip hard and looks at Steph and Dick. “Be careful.”

“Of course we’ll be careful,” Dick says. He smiles at Cassie, as reassuring as he can get without it becoming alarming instead. “You two take care of your dad, okay?”

Damian frowns at him. Dick can’t figure out what he’s trying to say—he smiles again, directly at Damian, hoping it will shake something out. But Damian just crosses his arms and leans against Tim’s side, looking like maybe he inherited all of his dad’s opinions.

“We’ll be back soon,” Steph says. “Love you all.” She kisses Tim hard on the forehead, and hugs the kids.

Then Terry says, “Oh.”

“What?” Bruce says.

“Broad daylight,” Terry says. “It’s broad daylight.”

Everyone pauses to look at one another.

“I kind of forgot what time it was,” Terry says with a laugh. “Awesome. I honestly don’t know if we’re more undercover in civvies.”

“Hm,” Bruce says. He doesn’t like it, but sometimes this sort of situation is unavoidable.

“Fine by me,” Jason says. He doesn’t have an identity to protect, anyway.

“You and I are the ones I’d worry about,” Dick tells Terry. “The Joker knows who all of us are, but Gotham doesn’t. You’re not going to be Batman for long if the public knows your name. And I don’t think I’ll have a job for much longer if anyone learns I was Nightwing. Or thinks I’m still active, god forbid.”

“Come on, it’ll be fine,” Jason says. “Everyone in Gotham has black hair and blue eyes. No one will even recognize you.”

“ _Mm-hm,”_ Max says.

“It was a _Bruce joke,”_ Jason protests. Bruce frowns.

“I’ll take Jay,” Steph interrupts. “No one knows either of us, so we can go out in street clothes. Problem solved.”

Terry grins at Dick. “Please tell me she means you’re gonna suit up..”

Dick says, “I don’t know if I’ll fit. I don’t think.”

“ _Tell me_ you carry it around,” Terry says.

“Um,” Dick says. He doesn’t, usually. But it will look bad to Tim, who looks bad enough already. “I don’t. I just didn’t know what we might be walking into.” He grimaces at himself. “It fits better than I thought.”

Tim makes a tiny, pained noise, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Then everyone knows their job,” Bruce says. “Let’s solve this before anyone gets hurt.”

“Right,” Terry says. “Out the door.” He starts away, turns, makes a little frown at Jason like he might make a move. But all he does is send him a quick smile, and he’s headed out the door and upstairs.

Jason takes that as a good sign. It means Terry thinks they might be okay at the end of this. He turns back to the others, and sees them carefully not doing anything or looking at him. Jason Todd, officially wrecking the vibe.

“I’m…gonna…find better shoes, or something,” he says. “Meet you upstairs, Steph?”

“Sure thing,” Steph says.

Dick straightens up from delivering a kiss to the top of Tim’s head. “Be good for her, all right, Jay?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Obviously. When am I not good?” He jogs up the stairs before anyone can give him the answer.

“All right,” Max says. “Mr. Wayne, you heading up? I think I’m going to the kitchen for some breakfast before all the hard work starts. You guys want something, too?” She looks pointedly at Cassie and Damian. Maybe they’ll take the bait, and maybe they’re smart enough to know she wants them to all clear out, breakfast or otherwise.

Damian says slowly, “Is there orange juice?”

“Of course there’s orange juice,” Bruce is in the alarming monotone he always uses when talking to children, and especially to Damian. He directs his gaze slightly over Damian’s head. “And Pop-Tarts.”

“Oookay,” Max says. “That’s great. Here. We. Go.”

It’s a brief miracle where everyone seems to know what they’re doing and Max gets herself and Bruce and Cassie and Damian all out of the picture, without even a fight.

~

Tim, Dick, and Steph are alone in the cave.

Steph rubs a hand across her face. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, guys.”

Tim is pale and stubborn and silent.

“I’m not _fighting_ ,” Dick says. “I mean, with you. I mean I never put it away, did I? I can’t now. My whole life--”

“Is a fucking joke as long as you keep doing this!” Tim snaps. “When I got out I got _out_.”

Dick’s mouth snaps shut, hurt into silence.

“God,” Tim says, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t want to fight. Being back here was almost nice until I remembered you could die out there, or hurt someone.”

“I--Yes,” Dick says. “Tim, I could hurt someone or die every day I go to work. And it’s not as though there’s less corruption in the force than there is screwed up in _this_. It isn’t Bruce we’re coming back for, either. It’s the kids. Tim, what if we can help them and we don’t?”

Steph sighs and leans her weight on them, a hand against each of their arms. “Terry needs us. If not for us, he’d be alone. We _can’t_ let what happened to you happen to his family.” She’s not going to dance around that particular fear.

“I know,” Tim says miserably. “I’m just--I can’t get my head straight about Gotham. I imagine what could happen and it’s--Do you think you’ll find him?”

“Yes,” Dick says. “He wants us to. If the old Batman refuses to play anymore, he’ll look for a substitute. But all us subs are ready for that.” He looks briefly horrified. “Uh, sub. Substitutes. Not exactly Batmans. New Batmans.”

Tim laughs and then makes a choked sound when it turns into tears. “Just come back, please. Please? Come back the same.”

Dick shakes Steph to swoop Tim up, blowing a big breath of air into his hair.

“That’s the plan, kid,” he says. “We’ll stick to the plan. We’re not leaving you.”

Steph grabs them both. “Sweeties!” she says. “We’re all brave as hell. And we’re going to do this.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “Okay, I believe you.” He can be brave still, maybe. Brave enough to let them go out.

“Good Tim,” Dick says. “I wish we didn’t have to, but. We’ll take care.” He’d be more reassuring, but he can’t lie when Tim is having a bad day. It feels even more unfair than usual.

Tim nods. “See you later. Max and I will be working hard.” He lets himself smile a little. “It’s actually kind of attractive that you still keep the suit around.”

He’s trying so hard that Steph wants to cry. “Good point,” she says. “We’ll have to check out Dick in spandex later.”

“We’ll go out the cave,” Dick says sufferingly. “I’m sure you’ll see it then.” They’ve scored an honest-to-God blush, in spite of everything.

“Good,” Tim says firmly, half to himself. “Move out, troops.”

“Oh, help,” Dick says lightly, and goes upstairs to change. Maybe Bruce would still have done this at sixty, but Dick can’t help feeling self-conscious. Some things maybe you really _shouldn’t_ wear over thirty.


	21. former heroes who quit too late

It takes awhile to mobilize everyone, but by the time Bruce has called Barbara, and Barbara has posted troopers at the exits from the city, other troops are being detailed, and Dick has been put through the enjoyable embarrassment of being seen in the last iteration of his Nightwing suit, it’s not even lunch time. 

The McGinnises come first. Especially with the entire network of people Bruce cares about crawling through the city, the Joker will show himself in good time. Family first. Terry gives Steph and Jason a list of places to look, and then he and Dick drive off in Tim’s car, wearing plainclothes after all. If nightfall comes and they’re still looking, they’ll be ready to change.

“You know your own family,” Dick says as they drive. “How likely do you think it is that they got themselves away?”

“Likely, I guess,” Terry says. “Not impossible, anyway. I kind of wondered when they first got taken if they’d find a way out, but if it didn’t happen then, why would it happen now?”

“Maybe someone interfered,” Dick says. “Or maybe it just took time for them to find a way out. People can escape an abductor after decades in captivity. We’re still in a tight spot, but I’d call this a big-time breakthrough.”

Terry nods. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’m going with you. I figure you won’t mind if I’m a little--freaked out.” He can trust Dick both to have his back and not to mind if he’s scared.

“Too much fear is a problem,” Dick agrees. “A little is useful, and I think you know how to manage it.” He hopes so, anyway.

There are a few spots in the city that Terry and his family have marked as safe, without exactly conferring with the inhabitants. He had to plan something, once mom and Matt found out. They start with an art supply store that’s (too) easy to break into from the back.

Terry goes through the motions slowly, as if rushing will summon disaster. “Should have brought Jason on this one,” he says weakly, jiggling the lock.

“At least nothing opens ‘til 11 on Sunday,” Dick says softly. “You got it?”

“Got it.” Terry eases the door open. The soothing smells of wood and paint hit him. “Anyone here?”

“You have a way of knowing if they were here, if they aren’t now?”

“Our codeword is _bronze,”_ Terry says. He scans the shelves, everywhere obvious.

“I like that you’re good at this,” Dick says.

“Oh,” Terry says, surprised. “Coming from a cop _and_ Nightwing? Pretty much the best compliment.” And exactly what he needed to hear.

Dick grins. “Don’t tell Batgirl. Or--you know. The ones in the cave--but I miss the hell out of this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t turn you away,” Terry says. He wouldn’t turn anyone away, as long as they learned to focus. “I don’t think they came through here.”

“My partner would skin me,” Dick says. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”

“Anything to go with the word,” Terry says. “There might be something with it, like a clue to where to go next.”

“I’ll help you look. At least we know if they came here they’d have something to write with.”

They look through the rest of the back room. Terry follows Dick, detective instincts warring with the desire to scream and never stop.

“Hey,” Dick says. There’s a pile of colored pencils on the floor, glinting with a faint metallic sheen. “Does that look like a sign to you?”

Terry’s heart lurches. “Loud and clear.” Be rational, not fucking terrified. 

“You see any pointers toward our next stop?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s hard to know what to look for, and Terry is not being very forthcoming. Dick doesn’t blame him, but resolves to push a little harder if they don’t find anything in a minute.

“It could be nothing,” Terry is saying. “There could be nothing. Or this whole thing could be a trap.” There’s the horrible chance that mom or Matt told them about their safety measures.

“The bad guys would have gone for something more clear-cut, if it was a trap,” Dick says. “If there’s anything here, I say it’s the people we’re looking for.” He frowns. “I don’t know about Harley, but I’ll bet my bottom dollar that the Joker is as confused and angry as he sounded.”

“I trust you,” Terry says. “You’d know. Okay--wait. I’m an idiot. Look at this.” The pile of pencils points out farther in one direction. Terry follows it to a stack of whiteboard erasers. “Matt’s old school,” Terry says. “That place did _not_ have up-to-date edu-tech. It’s one of the places we talked about.”

“Not the one he goes to _now?”_ Dick says in alarm. 

“No,” Terry says. “It was his elementary school. And I meant it, about being out of date. It’s shut down now.”

“Bad for education, good for us,” Dick says. “Let’s go. We can check in with the cave, I guess, and he can send word to Jay and Spoiler.”

“Spoiler.” Terry smiles. “Bet she misses it, too.”

“Don’t tell,” Dick says firmly. “You have no idea--come on, let’s get out of here.” He leads the way out, wary of any early staff arrivals.

Terry wants to promise that he’ll help, if he can, when all this is over. It’s their business, but Dick is helpful, and important to Jason. And Steph is nice, and Tim is--well, Terry’s just one step away from Tim, isn’t he? For now, though, he’s too tense. 

As they head out, he calls the cave. It’s jarring when Tim answers instead of Bruce. “Change in personnel,” Tim says shortly. “Max needs credentials to get into a lab. I know communications. What’s the news?”

“Potential lead,” Terry says, rallying. Tim rubs him the wrong way. “They might have left a message. We’re headed to check up on that.”

“Can you tell me where so the others don’t duplicate your work?”

“Saxon Elementary,” Terry says. “It might be a long shot. We’ll check in once we find out.”

“All right,” Tim says. “Spoiler and Jaybird are in your old neighborhood, Batman.” Even over the phone he sounds like he wants to bite every name in half.

“Good,” Terry says. “Thanks--what do I call you?”

“I don’t care what you call me as long as you damn well do,” Tim says. Dick is so fond and frustrated and inclined to take it personally that all he can say is, “Take care of yourself over there.”

“Will,” Tim says. “Check in.”

Terry signs off and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Onward.” He speeds up, and wonders whether he should ask if Dick’s all right.

~

Steph isn’t sure how to feel about working with Jason. She’s heard enough about him from her husband, her partner, and even _Bruce,_ but so far, all she’s seeing is herself when she was sixteen. She hopes that means she can trust him to have her back.

They’re in Tim’s car, because it’s less conspicuous than the bike, and it’s easier to talk. Jason watched Steph when they got in, like he wasn’t watching. He thinks she knows what was in the car. He’s not sure she knows it isn’t there anymore.

“I’m kind of excited,” he says as they’re coming into the city. He eyes Steph hopefully.

“I would be,” Steph says. “I have too much to worry about.” She won’t expand on that. Jason doesn’t need his bubble burst.

“Yeah,” Jason says, fidgeting. “But I’ve got a good feeling about Terry’s family.” And they’re going to Terry’s house, but Steph would probably think it’s weird that he’s excited about that.

Steph is quiet for a minute. Then she says, “I see why Batman likes you.”

“Batman, old Batman, or Batman, new Batman?” This is so awkward. He hopes he’s not blushing.

Steph chuckles. _Gotcha, kiddo._ “New Batman. The one whose opinion we _all_ care about.”

Jay looks at her sideways. Cool, she thinks, obviously he’s cool, and, god, he’s too young for all this crap. He feels out trustworthy adults like a stray cat. It’s hard to look at.

“He’s pretty good, huh?” Jason offers.

“Yeah, and so’re you, buddy,” Steph says. Not gonna call him kid to his face, not gonna be that asshole. “I think you’ll be a good team. However you want.” She wants to say, _I’m a friend_ , but no one like Jason ever believes that till they’re shown.

“Yeah,” Jason says. Now he’s definitely blushing. He can feel it getting him back by his ears.

Steph says. “I think we’ll make a good team, too. I think we’ll find Terry’s family. What’s his mother’s name, again?” 

“Mary,” he says. He barely remembers it in time, which makes him feel bad.

Steph nods. “Got it. Mary and Matt. We’ll get her. We’ll get them both. How’d your field run go last night?” Don’t make it sound accusatory.

Jason chokes up. Didn’t Terry tell anyone that Jason didn’t _go?_ “Fine,” he says. “Never better.”

“Hey,” Steph says. “It’s _okay._ I know people are fucked up and scary and judgmental. I know you don’t know me. But if I’m rooting for anyone, trust me, it’s you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jason says. Considering how much he doesn’t want to tell her, he’s giving her a lot.

“That’s what I thought when you were Robin,” Steph says. “I saw you on the news and thought you looked like a smug jackass. Actually, you’re really nice.”

“You haven’t known me that long,” he says uncomfortably.

She shrugs. “You’re behaving better than anyone except Cassie right now.”

Jason shrinks down in his seat. “If you say so. How far do we have to go?”

“Just a few blocks from here,” Steph says, frowning. Something’s got Jason spooked. Does he hate compliments that much?

“Great,” Jason says. “Got my eyes open.”

Steph pulls out her phone and brings up the pictures of Terry’s family that Tim and Max put on there. Max is great. Steph probably owes her a conversation about being a crimefighter and a few hundred thanks for Tim.

“I feel like I’ve looked at those so many times I won’t know ‘em if I see ‘em,” Jason says.

“You will,” Steph says. “If not, I’ll be the eyes.” She’s glad they’re not in costume, she decides as she parks. The Joker’s less likely to turn up this way.

“Eyes, wheels, no history of being dead,” Jason mutters, waiting for the car to land and jumping out.

“Kinda,” Steph says glibly.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jason asks, but not rudely. He’s just startled.

“I didn’t quit when Tim got hurt,” Steph says. “I quit after I came back to life and he begged me to stop.” Long story there, involving more of both Tim and Damian’s personal information than Steph is willing to share.

“What,” Jason says. Everything is going dim around the edges. “What number are we looking for?” He doesn’t want to be here with Steph. 

“One eighty-two,” Steph says. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jason says. How does it come back like this, over and over? He tries to focus, because fucking up can’t happen. And Damian wouldn’t forgive him so easily if he attacked Steph. He sees the door and heads for it. Doesn’t remember how to approach right.

“Hey,” Steph says sharply. “Look at me.” She doesn’t touch him, because she’s not stupid. Maybe not surprisingly, he obeys.

“I _know_ it’s not okay,” Steph says steadily, looking him in the eye. “But look. You can be murdered, you can be tortured and brainwashed and--and look, Tim and I are still standing. That’ll be you. But I get it if it’s not now. Just let me know—talk to me while we’re out here, okay?”

“As pep talks go, that was scary,” Jay says. He takes a few steps backwards towards the building. “We should...”

“Only if you’re good to go,” she says firmly.

He makes a smile at her and says, “C’mon, Steph, whose mom are you? I’m good.” Wrong choice of words, but too late to change ‘em.

“You are,” she says. “Just—”

“We really don’t have time,” he says, friendly. How much does she thinks it’s going to help when he has a meltdown on the sidewalk?

Steph nods. “Got it. Going.” She takes Terry’s keys from her pocket and unlocks the door as though she belongs there.

“Cool,” Jason sighs. He watches out while Steph opens the door, and keeps watching his back through the glass when they’ve shut it behind them.

When they get up to the apartment. Steph takes stock. “Hello?” It looks pretty empty.

“They’re gonna hear us coming and not know we’re good guys and we’re going to end up in the hospital with worse headaches than Terry’s,” Jason mutters. Which must mean Terry is catching, because he’s _not_ the cautious one.

“Shh,” Steph says. “Follow me.” She’s missed this job, but not really this part.

Jason does follow, feeling his back tense up, expecting to be hit, expecting it again and again. He tries to think about how nice the apartment is, and then he tries not to.

Then something else breaks through his distraction, and he stops. “Someone here,” he mouths. Steph doesn’t even nod; she just freezes. She’s armed and in shape. She’s ready. She steps to the door and pushes it open a crack. 

It jerks out of her reach, swinging angrily inwards.

“I’m old, but I can still tell when there’s _mice_ ,” the old woman says.

Jason says, “Who the hell are _you?_ ”

“Harley,” Steph says immediately, a lace of hatred in her voice.

“What?” Jay says. “That?” Of course they’re all old, except for the Joker, of course he sees it now.

“Rude!” Harley says. “I know who you are, Baby Jay-Jay, even with your clothes on.”

Jason feels sick, but angry tromps flat panic before it has a chance.

“What are you doing here, Harley?” Steph asks. “I don’t see any hostages and I don’t see your boyfriend.” She also doesn’t see a weapon. Doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

“I don’t know who gave you the right to know, Miss Bargain Batgirl,” Harley says, “but I’m not interested in hostages or _him_. Guess that means we got different priorities, and nothing at all to talk about. So bye bye, now.”

“Why are you here, then?” Steph asks.

“For the kids, obviously!” Harley says, and rolls her eyes. “Not yours, stupid. Mine. The grandkids. Don’t say a thing, had ‘em young and only got to raise ‘em halfway. Coulda come out better.”

Steph sighs and shuts her mouth, briefly at a loss. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Too bad,” Harley says, and starts to push her way to through the door.

“ _No,”_ Jason says, grabs at her, feels so crawly with his hands on her arm that he just throws her at the door and stumbles back.

“Too bad Mr. J decided to train up the next one and kill _you_ ,” Harley says. “I think you would’ve both done better the other way around.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Steph says, furious, but she’s not going to hurt a mentally ill old woman, even this ogre from their pasts. “You can save the taunts. Were the Mcginnises with your granddaughters?”

“No,” Harley says carelessly. “Those little idiots helped Bat Jr.’s family get out. Went their separate ways. At least they weren’t too stupid to run for it before Joker found out. I prefer my girls alive.”

“Of course you do,” Jason says. “Everybody lives happily ever after.” He sounds pretty normal, but he realizes with horror that there’s no reason to say anything. He doesn’t need to have said that. Probably he should have kept his mouth shut. He should leave everything to Steph. He should have stayed home--but that’s a complete overreaction. _Shut up and be normal._

Steph is watching Jason out of the corner of her eye, and she can see that things aren’t good there, but she can’t do anything about it right now. Her heart is racing. Terry’s family is just out there loose, then. That’s very good, and it could get very bad. “Where else have you looked for your girls?” she asks Harley.

“Hah!” Harley says. “Because now we’re on the same side. I’ve been to all the shit-holes they like going around to, and now I’m here. Just in case you thought I saw anything useful.” She sneers. “If I found Mommy Bat Jr. first, I’d never tell you anyway. I’d bring her straight to the Joker so he’d leave my kids alone.”

“It’s _the Joker,_ now?” Jason asks. His teeth are trying to chatter, but he’s not giving out like this. “What happened to _Mr. J?_ You and the old man having a little falling out?”

“Shut up, kid,” Harley says. “I got bored with your attitude forty years ago.” She takes another step toward them--the windows must be too much for her, these days.

“So what you’re saying is, you aren’t any use,” Steph says. She’s almost certain she can move faster than Harley. “And we’re going to have to waste our time bringing you to the police.” Hopefully there are still some charges that’ll stick. And hopefully Harley’s granddaughters are okay.

“ _You?”_ Harley says, and laughs. _”You’re_ about as far over the hill as I am, sister, and the kid looks about as much like an upstanding citizen as Harvey Dent’s bad side. Who’s gonna get arrested when you drag an old lady into the station, huh? They won’t even check up on my name. And boy, won’t it look great when one of you gives the name of a dead kid who’s so obsolete he’s barely in the city records!”

Damn it, she has a point. “Then I guess you’re stuck with us,” Steph says. “We can’t let you get to Terry’s family before we do, so let’s all get there at the same time and you can be good and stay out of it.” Not ideal, especially with Jason this close to the edge, but they can’t let her go now.

Sure enough, Jason makes a strangled noise before Harley’s protest can even work its way that far up in her throat. She turns her attention to him, smiling unkindly.

“Don’t want me around either, sweetums? Afraid I’ll give you bad dreams?”

“I don’t think you want to be more trouble than you’re already being, after what you did to my husband,” Steph says shortly.

Because she would have been there for what they did, Jason realizes. She would have helped. Murdering children. Torturing children. Still standing here just fine, only worrying about her fucking monster grandkids, having the fucking gall to give a shit about them, after she’s helped rip apart all these fucking people like they’re nothing. 

Terry wouldn’t want him to. Terry would want him to keep his cool. Go home. Sit it out. Think of another way. He’s going to punch her or he’s going to start crying, and she’s the last person in the world he’s going to allow to see him cry.

_There’s no fucking point,_ he thinks at Steph, but he just roars and lunges at Harley, knocking her down against the floor and punching her across the jaw before Steph can catch him.

“Whoa!” Steph says, and she dives for him, too late to stop him, but fast enough to pull him off before he does it again. “You’ll kill her,” she says, breathless. Jason is _strong_. “She’s not worth it. Not _her_.” She hopes Harley isn’t in too much pain to miss that. She’s not sorry Jason did it, though. That’s just getting a little back for all those nights Tim wakes up screaming. Or laughing.

Jason wrenches himself away from the pair of them, swinging his fist before he knows where it’s headed. It’s headed for Steph. 

He doesn’t hit her. He practically yanks his arm out of the air and stands there, lungs heaving, eyes darting between Harley and Steph. He shouldn’t fucking be here and now he can’t leave. Terry was right. Terry was right about him and he already tried to hurt Steph’s kid.

“I can take you,” Steph says quietly. She doesn’t want to do this in front of Harley, but there’s no other place to do it. “If I need to, I can take you down. Don’t worry.” 

It’s almost reassuring, except it tells Jason that he really is in the middle of the nightmare screwup he thinks he’s in. He is the kind of person his friends have to beat up to protect themselves. “I don’t want that!” he says. Harley is sitting on the ground, not looking bothered, not bothering to get up.

Steph nods. “Okay. Then do what you’re doing. Calm yourself down. You _have_ got this. I believe in you.” What would she have wanted to hear?

“Maybe you should knock me out for a few minutes, if this is gonna be a heart-to-heart,” Harley says. 

“I kind of thought Jason had,” Steph says. “But maybe it wouldn’t kill you to hear this, too. Jason, look, you don’t have to be scared of yourself. Not with me.” She saw the way his fist jerked back. “Do you know how many times Tim has tried to kill me? More than once, I’ll tell you that.” That’s a secret no one but Dick knows.

Jason looks at both of them and breathes. Normally. He gets the point. He doesn’t want to hear anything else. He wants Terry and he wants to go home and if he thinks of the whole scope of what they’re doing he can feel it tipping him into an endless dark hole where he’ll never be able to breathe again. 

No time for that. Keep it together. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m good. Sorry. Can we-?” He’s about to ask if they can at least tie Harley up somewhere, but his phone goes off. So does Steph’s, he sees, as she reaches for her pocket.

“Yeah?” Steph says into the phone, frowning.

“Spoiler,” Bruce says, except it isn’t Bruce, it’s Tim. He sounds pissed off. Jason is fumbling to get his phone to his ear, instead of just standing there. The first thing he hears is someone saying, “This is apparently your oracle speaking.”

“Ha,” Steph says, but it’s not quite a laugh. She doesn’t know how to take that. If he’s even willing to make the joke, he’s doing better than she expected. “What’s up?”

“Nightwing and Batman checked the art store, and they had a potential lead to Saxon El. They’re headed over there now. News on your end?” He sounds like Bruce, clipped and professional.

“We have Harley,” Steph says. She glances at Jason and decides an update on the rest of the situation isn’t really necessary.

“Oh,” Tim says. Just a breath.

“She’s alone,” Jason says. His own voice sounds loud to him. “She said she’s looking for her grandkids. I guess they were stupid enough to let the hostages go, and now the Joker wants them dead.” If he opens his mouth, fire will run out of him--but the words slip away, easy as pie.

“Oh,” Tim says again. Then, perhaps generously, for him, “You okay?”

“Me?” Jason says. “No. I promise I’ll keep it together for S-Spoiler.”

“Good. We’re not losing anyone today,” Tim says. He sounds stern, beneath the jarring quality of someone who is half panicking. “Not you, not anyone. I’ll update the others about your situation. Need a pick-up on Harley? I can send Barbara’s people.”

“That would be good,” Jason says in relief. “My solution was just beat her up.”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Harley says.

“I--don’t blame you,” Tim says. “Be careful. She might be old, but she probably has a few tricks. Spoiler--Just don’t do anything stupid. I know you won’t, but--I’ll send the cops. Okay? Oracle out.”

Steph takes a difficult breath. She could hear him swaying between losing it and keeping it together.

“Is he serious about the name?” Jason says. “Or is he just pissed?”

“I don’t know,” Steph says, frustrated. “I think he’s pissed and scared and trying really hard to make something the two of us want _work_.”

“The two who?” Jason says. “No, never mind, I don’t need to--”

“Something else I got bored with a million years ago,” says Harley. “Batmance. Yuck.”

“We’re doing a hell of a lot better than you,” Steph snaps. “Get your cheap shots in while you can. The police are coming.”

“Welp, guess that’s it!” Harley says. She frowns and laboriously gets to her feet to relocate to a chair. “I repent! I’ll sit here looking scared, now. Speaking of scared and cheap shots and all, was that your adorable husband on the phone now? I don’t think I’ve seen him outside his cozy nest since--well, since old Bruce and Babs came in and ruined all our nurturing.” 

Steph wants to hurt Harley, but what would be the point? “Yup,” she says, forcing her voice light, “my adorable husband who turned out well-adjusted and happy despite everything you did. So I guess you didn’t really make the impact you were shooting for.”

“Well-adjusted?” Harley says. “And that’s why he tries to kill you a little sometimes.” She frowns. “Then again, I guess I felt the same way when I was a kid. You gotta pay a little if it means your guy’s happy.”

Steph is horrified by the comparison, but she won’t admit it for Harley. “My husband is doing just fine. We all are. _My_ boyfriends don’t throw me out of buildings or threaten my children.”

“Oh, kiddo, that honeymoon has sunk,” Harley says. “Believe me. Forty years is too long and the payoff ain’t shit.” She smiles brightly at Jason. “Betcha know what I mean. The old bat’s probably not asking you to bed anymore, huh? The guilt really fucked him up.”

“Fuck off,” Jason says. He promised to keep his cool, but he really hates not being allowed to just kill Harley Quinn.

“I hear sirens,” Steph says, and a second later, she actually does. Good. Jason needs out of here. “I’ll tie her up and let the cops handle it while we go out the back,” she says. She’s going to watch, to make sure Harley doesn’t slip away, but they can’t compromise their identities.

“Okay,” Jason says. “Okay.” He doesn’t want this, or getting caught, and he doesn’t want to stay and hurt anybody, either. Who the hell let him out of the house at all? Who had the stupid idea to bring him back to life?

Steph ties Harley up in silence, then lets herself and Jason out, ignoring Harley as she goes. No sign-off is worth spending even a second longer in the room with her.

“Going to make sure it goes all right with the cops,” she says to Jason. “Then we’ll get you someplace safe.”

Jason crouches behind her, silent. They watch the cops come, head up the stairs, come down a few minutes later with Harley between them. She’ll figure out a way to get free, there’s no doubt, but this will keep her out of their hair while they look for Terry’s family. 

The cruisers pull away. Steph turns to Jason and says, “Okay, how do you feel? And don’t tell me there’s no time, because that situation was bad, and it’ll happen again.”

It’s all Jason can do not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You don’t?” Steph says, trying to make it gentle. “Jason, you suffered a bigger trauma than even miserable old Bruce can imagine. When that happened to me, I _quit_. But here you are, what feels like only weeks later, back in the field.”

“Not weeks,” Jason says. He looks into the dust of dissolving concrete and trash.

“Yeah,” Steph says. “See?” Fuck.

“I’m s-sorry,” Jason says again. “I shouldn’t have come out here. I’m a liability, right?” Tim will kill him.

“Kind of, yeah,” Steph says. “I’m not _mad._ I’m worried. I don’t want to see you like you were back there, not in a place where I can’t help you keep it together.” 

Jason rubs a hand over his eyes. “Fuck me,” he says. “It’s not in the car anymore, okay?”

“What?” Steph says, flinching. “I--oh. When did you--?” God, poor kid.

“Damian needed his bag,” Jason says. “When everyone was fighting.”

“Did Damian see?” Steph asks.

Jason can’t. He just can’t. He says, like it comes from someone else, “Yes.” A sob comes out of him that he doesn’t even feel building up. Something’s just broken.

“Hey,” Steph says, alarmed. “Jason, he’s okay. He seemed fine. He’s a tough little guy, and it’s not your fault he saw.” She fights the feeling of dread in her gut and loses pretty fast.

“I pushed him,” Jason says. He looks straight at her, in case maybe that will get him what he deserves. “He grabbed me because I was acting weird, and I pushed him down on the ground.”

“You--” Steph reminds herself of all the times Tim has scared her. “You wouldn’t do that on purpose, would you? We need you out of situations where you lose control. What did he--he seemed okay…” Her baby had better be okay.

“No, I wouldn’t do it on purpose!” Jason says, but he’s angry and crying. “I t-told him not to tell.” God, he’s so worthless.

“I’m trying not to think how that could have gone,” Steph says slowly. “Bet you are, too. But he would have broken your arm.”

“I know,” Jason says. “He said.”

“That’s my good kid,” Steph says. “Damn it, I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“How the hell was I gonna do that?!”

“You could have asked not to be put in a situation that would set you off, at least. Look, I’m not going to yell at you for what happened with Damian, but I am going to tell you to _warn_ us if you’re not okay.” It could so easily have been worse.

“You won’t _yell,”_ Jason says savagely.

“I won’t write you off! I won’t lock you up! Do you know the things we’ve all done, a lot of them on purpose?” Before she really decides how angry she is, she needs to talk to Damian.

“I’m not fucking _Tim!”_ Jason shouts at her, and pulls on his hair. Not the good boy who got fucked up by a bad guy. Just a bad boy who was too stupid not to hand himself over to his boyfriend’s worst enemy on a plate.

“No,” Steph says, getting in his space, “you’re a sixteen-year-old they _murdered_ a few days ago. If all you did was push my son, the one kid his size who can fight back, you’re doing all right.”

“Being dead didn’t make me a fucking asshole!” Jason shouts. “Okay? I’m the fucking problem!”

“I don’t _care!”_ Steph shouts back. “And while you’re trying to self-destruct, do you think Terry is just going to accept that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason says. “He’s an idiot. I can’t just--” _Bruce_ could never fix him.

“We should go back to the manor,” Steph says. “This isn’t safe.”

“You go where you want,” Jason says. “I have to help Terry.” Even if he’s a fuckup, even if no one should have let him out, right? He has to go. He’s not getting dragged home in disgrace again.

“Good,” Steph says, furious and unhappy for him. “Then help. We can argue the finer points of how ruined we all are later.”

Jason doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just grits his teeth and waits.

“Get in the car,” Steph says. “I want to find Harley’s girls.” Even if they don’t know where Terry’s family headed, which they might, Steph would rather find them before the Joker does.

“We don’t know where they’d go,” Jason says antagonistically, because there’s a pinching little poison part of him that wants to keep digging.

Steph watches the other cars instead of Jason’s hopeless face. “If you want to call it off at any point today, tell me.” She realizes she’s framing it like she would for Damian, who sometimes needs direct orders to stop him from being too brave for his own good.

Jason has to fight himself a little to say, “Am I already too much trouble? I mean right now. It’s not exactly a good time for Jay’s therapy hour.”

“Hm,” Steph says. She wants everyone safe in all the ways. She won’t get that. “What’s the worst that’ll happen if you go home compared to if you stay here?”

Jason feels the answer in his gut before he even says it. “At home,” he says. “I’ll feel bad. Gotta--bug Max, something, maybe.” He shrugs. “Out here, I could...kill someone. Get you killed. Piss Terry off so bad he doesn’t want...anything.” He almost says, _me._ But that’s too hard.

So stupid. Can’t even say all the words. “I mean you can’t...trust me. Out here.” 

Steph nods, relieved and proud. Jason knows himself, and he’s not stupid. “I can call home, if you want, let them know we’re coming.”

“ _Shit,”_ Jason says, clasping his hands against the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. _Shit.”_

“Brave,” Steph says quietly. “You’re being brave. I’m proud. Letting yourself choose _not_ to is one of the hardest things you can do.” She pulls out her phone and gives Jason a reassuring smile. “You know what? You’re gonna be okay.”

“Ha ha,” Jason says, trying reflexively to shut it down. He threw this lady’s kid to the ground not that long ago. He’d rather talk about Terry or even the Joker than about how _great_ he is.

They climb into the car. Steph is quiet for a while, key hanging in the igntion, phone in her hands. 

“So,” she says suddenly, “just so you know, I got pregnant when I was sixteen, my mom was a junkie, my dad was a criminal, and Batman did everything in his power to make me stop being Spoiler. Sometimes what I did to help people got people killed instead. I’m nobody’s hero and I’m not here to lecture anyone. If I say you’re going to make it, you’re going to make it. You get me?”

“God, I hope so,” Jason says. He should be the least of anyone’s worries, except ideally maybe not _least_ for Bruce, but it’s nice to know someone gives a shit, whether he deserves it or not.

“Trust me,” Steph says. She calls the cave, ready to head off any remarks Tim might be prepared to make when she says she’s bringing Jason back.


	22. that dark in a little more light

As soon as everyone sets off, Bruce goes from barking orders and backing Terry up to sitting, tense and staring into space. He’s never liked teams, and he likes this one less than most. Almost everyone is some kind of liability. And they all know he thinks so.

Damian is glaring back at him while Tim and Max try to fit their research in with Bruce’s hypothetical communicating.

Bruce eyes him. Looking at him is hardest of all. “Hm,” he says. “How do you like the cave?”

“I liked my house,” Damian says, steely. Cassie winces at the past tense.

“I can help you get a new one,” Bruce says, which is all wrong. He sees Tim, who he thought wasn’t listening, flinch.

“I don’t want _this_ kind of house,” Damian says scornfully. Only the kinds of people he doesn’t like live in houses like this. “The Joker’s only interested in you, right? It’s your fault our house got blown up.”

Bruce stares. “Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. “This is all my fault. Anything that’s happened to anyone on this team right now.” Is this what he’s earned? Damian Drake, of all people, spitting his greatest fears at him?

“That’s silly,” Damian says, scowling. “You’re just trying to make me sound stupid. I’m not stupid. ”

“I--” Bruce chuckles, too horrified to do anything else. “No, I meant it.” He realizes he doesn’t know this boy at all. Will never know him. Probably in a minute Tim is going to come over here and demand that Bruce stop talking to his son.

“Oh,” Damian says, relaxing. Cassie is still eyeing them, but she backs off a little. This is probably a sign that Damian isn’t about to throw a giant fit or attack anyone. Damian says, “Why don’t you just kill him, then? I would kill him.”

 _You probably would_ , Bruce thinks. _Your mother would have._ “I don’t know that I can explain morality to you if it’s not something you feel.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “ _I_ would’ve killed him,” he says. “And then my dad wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Batman, either. Or Jay. Or like a million other people. And we’d still have a house. And they wouldn’t be scared, either.”

Bruce feels the words like a blow to the face. Call a child a sociopath, and this is what you get—the same thing Bruce hears from everyone else. “I suppose I was afraid to kill him,” he says weakly. He can feel Tim’s eyes on him. “Afraid of what it would do to me.”

“Poor baby,” Damian says, arms crossed. “ _Soldiers_ kill people all the time. Cops kill people--”

“They’re not _supposed_ to,” Max says.

“Damian,” Cassie says anxiously. She doesn’t want to talk about if killing people messes you up. She doesn’t want Bruce looking at her and Damian too closely, trying to find the answers.

“Let him go,” Max says. “I think the old man needs his ass kicked by someone who doesn’t care if he’s mad about it.”

“I’m not mad,” Bruce says, rattled and unhappy. “He just sounds like--someone I used to know.” Damian’s grandfather. Damian sounds exactly like his grandfather. That serious, disappointed little voice, brimming with convicion.

He hears Tim drop something.

Max turns to look at Tim. He’s a pretty steady guy until Bruce comes into the room. Bring in the old man, though…

“Yeah?” she says. “Probably you. You’re all a bunch of angry—ah, aesthetically similar—over-confident do-gooders with violent tendencies who interfere too much. She nearly, _nearly_ said _angry white boys_ , before Damian glared into view and she remembered Cassie, right there. The fuckery of these people is _catching_. 

Damian does look a lot like young Bruce Wayne, though. She wonders why Tim of all people is adopting lookalikes.

Bruce clears his throat. “Yes. Probably.”

Tim doesn’t relax, but he does smile. “Well, I, for one, am glad Damian has a lot of confidence. Here, Damian, come give me a hand.” Whoops. Apparently Tim doesn’t want Damian to look like Bruce.

“I have a thought,” Max says. “Just a thought, so don’t freak out. Mr. Drake, isn’t communications kind of your specialty? Could you and Damian handle the folks outside and Mr. Wayne help me and Cassie?” She wants so much to look at Bruce’s face, but she’s a damn good girl. She plays it totally straight.

“Oh,” Tim says. Just like he’s considering. He doesn’t look at Bruce. “Okay. Sure. That may be more expeditious.” It doesn’t sound _entirely_ malicious, and it’s fair.

“All right,” Bruce says, but only because he wants to make Tim happy. “I’d certainly like to work with Cassie.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Thanks. C’mon, Cass, let’s make room for the old man. Maybe _he_ knows about protein signatures.”

Cassie gives Bruce a tiny smile and Max a bigger one. “Tell me if mom calls, Damian.”

“ _Baby_ ,” Damian says, but only out of habit. He wants to call her back, to find out if she saw the thing in the car, to make sure she’s all right--but that’s just because there’s too much going on. She _is_ all right. Damian can see that.

Tim gives Damian a seat near the comm controls, because if he’s going to involve his children in this, he’s going to make sure they learn something useful.

“See?” he says. “Just like at my job.” A little too much like. He and Bruce design the same way.

Damian nods. “Do you have tracking on ‘em?” he asks. “That would be better for this, right?” It’s useful. That’s why Damian wants to know. Not because he thinks mom or Dick is going to need him to rescue them. (Probably no one would let him go _anyway_.)

“I assume Bruce always has tracking on,” Tim says.

Bruce grunts, but doesn’t defend himself.

“Okay,” Tim says. “So now we wait for them to check in. If we get worried, we can call them.” He’s already worried, of course. He knows what could go wrong. But the kids are here, so he can’t look _off_.

“Can we watch where they go?” Damian asks. “Can we see if the cops are doing good?” Or if they suck. One of the reasons he’s not always sure about Dick, or his parents’ friend Barbara. Sometimes the cops aren’t good enough. Or they’re too good, and Damian doesn’t like what they’re doing.

Tim hesitates for a moment, because he can’t remember how to bring up the screen he wants. “I--Oh, okay, here we go. Look. The cops. And over here’s the tracking for your mom and Jason.” He can’t say the codenames. Not while all he can think about is the last time he lost Steph.

“Good,” Damian says, scowling. “Are they checking in soon?”

“Should be,” Tim says. “Dick and Terry, too.”

“Codenames,” Bruce mutters. Tim pretends not to hear.

“Code names don’t matter with the comms off,” Damian whispers to Tim.

“Thanks, Damian,” Tim whispers back. At least his son is on his side. He always worries, irrationally, that Damian will be on Bruce’s.

Damian nods and brings up Dick and Terry’s feed without help.

“I should get a codename, too,” he says. “Me and Cass. And you. Not to fight. Just to talk. Right?”

Tim wants to shout _no_ , wants to scream it. But Damian’s right, it would be useful. “Okay,” he says carefully. He can see Bruce not watching. “What do you want to go by?”

Damian considers. “Cassie should be Shadow. Max can be Circuit!” He doesn’t think he needs permission to name people. “I don’t know about you. But I think I’m gonna be Mongoose.”

Cassie looks up. “That sounds _so stupid_.”

Damian smiles cherubically and then bares his teeth. “Like in _Rikki Tikki Tavi,”_ he growls through them. “I’m gonna kill all the snakes.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh. “You have a talent for code names.” He looks Tim square in the eye across the room. “A harmless talent.”

Tim thinks it’s probably an olive branch. “I’ll think about mine.”

“Uh, me too!” Max says. “I did _not_ give you naming rights, little boy!”

“I think we have a corporation match,” Cassie says, pointing.

“ _LuthorCorp_?” Max says. “Are you sure?”

Bruce’s eyes widen. “What interest would Lex--”

“Does it have to be Lex, though?” Tim asks. “It’s a big company and we all know he has other concerns these days.”

“If it was Lex, we can be sure it wasn’t a favor,” Bruce says curtly.

If what Tim recalls of Lex’s cloning abilities is accurate, they can also be sure it won’t have turned out quite right.

“I know y’all are bigshots,” Max says, “but it’s still weird as heck to hear you call the president by his first name because you’re _friends_. Uh. Or whatever.”

“We haven’t been friends since high school,” Bruce growls. He looks anxious, though. “I’ll deal with him. After this is over.”

“We can’t just deal with the president,” Tim mutters, but he doubts it’ll do much good.

“Seriously, though. Big corporation. He might not even remember you exist,” Max says. Then she frowns. “Wait, did you imply somewhere in there that _Lex Luthor, president of the United States_ knows who Batman is?”

Bruce looks quietly furious. “He may have some--memory problems, but he is, unfortunately, a fairly good detective.”

Tim got more of that story than some people, but not, he thinks, the whole thing. “Good thing he doesn’t have a reason to expose anyone.”

“Well, someone has something to do with wanting to do something,” Max says. “Mr. Wayne, do you think you could track down what lab this came from? There’s got to be a way to track it. Luthorcorp’s notoriously meticulous. It’s part of what makes them so hard to prosecute. Their paperwork always looks exquisite, no matter what crap it’s hiding. You know, in the past. When it was corrupt. When Luthor Jr. wasn’t president. We might need your Wayne powers--uh, sorry, that came out wrong--we might need your name to get us through to their lab guys anyway.”

“Already on it,” Bruce says, typing. “Tim, Damian, hold your position. Batman and the others should be checking in soon.”

“Codenames,” Tim says quietly.

Before a fight can start, the comms go live.

“Change in personnel,” Tim says shortly. “Max needs credentials. I know communications. What’s the news?”

“Potential lead,” Terry says. They can all hear him. “They might have left a message. We’re headed to check up on that.”

“Can you tell me where so the others don’t duplicate your work?”

“Saxon Elementary,” Terry says. “It might be a long shot. We’ll check in once we find out.”

“All right,” Tim says. “Spoiler and Jaybird are in your old neighborhood, Batman.” The names are for Damian and no one else. It’s awful. He wants to choke.

“Good,” Terry says. “Thanks--what do I call you?”

“I don’t care what you call me as long as you damn well do,” Tim says. That’s not really true, but he’s building up to a panic attack, and this is easier.

“Take care of yourself over there,” Dick says.

Dick’s voice is like pressing a hand to a bruise. Instead of sobbing into the comm, Tim says, “Will. Check in.”

He signs off, feeling ill and naked. But Damian is looking at him, so he tries not to show any of it.

Cassie says, “Do you think they’ll find them? Before they get hurt?”

“Yes,” Tim says. He finds that he means it. How can he possibly mean it, after what happened to him? Bruce is looking tortured. He’s clearly thinking the same thing.

Cassie nods, then says, “You found it!” to Bruce. She points to the screen. “That lab is near Gotham. We pass that road when mom and dad drive us to school.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “You’re good at this--I’m sorry, Tim, but she _is._ She’s extremely intelligent.”

“Of course she’s intelligent,” he says. “She’s our girl.”

“ _Dad,”_ Cassie says, because it’s embarrassing and also not how genetics work.

“Damian, too, although his stubborn streak may not serve him too well,” Bruce says. “You should take care on that count, Damian.”

Tim realizes that Bruce is, absurdly, trying for a sort of apology, or at least making fun of himself. Maybe having the kids here is good for Bruce. And Cassie never gets to show off this particular skill set.

Damian scowls, of course. “ _You_ take care,” he says. He hooks his hand over his dad’s elbow. 

“I can’t imagine they’re gonna open their doors just because some black girl with half a BSc happens to want it,” Max says. Bat family drama is what she signed up for accidentally, but she signed up for Terry way before that was on the agenda. She really wishes they’d table it until she’s gone and this whole thing is dealt with.

“I can give you the necessary credentials,” Bruce says, switching focus. “I’m sure you can talk your way through well enough after that.”

Max raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you think it is about you that is not going to work better than me over the phone,” she says.

“Ah,” Bruce says. “Maybe not the time for field experience. Although it’s true you at least have the ability to be charming. Let me handle it, then.”

“The sciences are a damned pit of racial and sexual inequality and he’s like, oh, I’m sure your natural charm will break down hundreds of years of oppression at a key moment,” Max mutters. “Thanks, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce winces. “I know, I know. My friend Talia informed me on several occasions of some missing pieces in my picture of the world. I do try not to forget.”

“Better make your calls,” Max says, sighing.

“I didn’t know you have friends,” Damian tells Bruce. It’s hard to tell whether it’s even supposed to be a potshot.

“He used to,” Tim says. No, be fair. “He does. More than he likes to think.” Talia isn’t someone he’d put on the list, though.

Max makes a frustrated noise. “I swear to god, if no one does the thing they’re supposed to in the next ten seconds, I am going to own you all in hand-to-hand combat. I’m happy you’re rekindling bonds and all, but can we get through this a little faster?”

Tim glances at his screen. Nothing so far. “Sorry,” he says. “Just waiting on Steph and Jason.”

Instead of answering, Bruce picks up the phone and calls the lab.

Max leaves Cassie to watch Bruce--she’ll keep an eye on him, that’s for sure--and rolls over to Tim. “Damian, can you help your sister make sure Mr. Wayne does his job?” she asks. “I want to talk to your dad, and the old man is a handful.”

Damian considers, decides he’s not being condescended to, and trots over to Cassie. Max says, “How’s it going on your end, Mr. Drake? I mean, you’re doing great, but can I do anything? I feel like maybe I made this situation more painful than it already was.”

Tim shakes his head. “You didn’t. It was never going to be comfortable, and I just need to deal with that. The kids need me. Your friend Terry needs me. I have handle it.”

Max pulls a face. “I’m still sorry. I’m gonna run and get a drink while Bruce does his rich old white guy thing. Want a water?”

Tim smiles. “I’d love it.” He makes a note not to be too much of a rich old white guy whenever possible.

Bruce is being forceful on the phone. He’s using his Bruce Wayne voice, which has changed a lot over the years. It’s closer to his Batman voice, though less rough.

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor,” he says. “Tell him it’s Bruce Wayne.”

“Hey!” Max says to Damian. “Can you grab your sister? The three of us can carry down enough cups.”

“Just use a pitcher or something,” Damian says.

“Okay, see, I’m getting us out of the way,” Max says. “Your dad’s gotta put Old Batman in his place.”

Damian says, “If he hurts dad--”

Cassie is at his side, quick as a whip. “He won’t. But don’t worry, you can get revenge if he does.” Sometimes that’s the best way to placate Damian.

Tim gives them a slightly desperate look as they depart.

Bruce eyes their retreating backs balefully. Max is conniving like Alfred was, and it’s not a trait he counts among the most missed.

“Yes, Dr. Coates, three o’clock will do,” he says to the man on the phone. They’ll see this lab in person. And this so-called scientist. “Yes. Good. Until later.” He hangs up and wonders if he has to turn around.

Tim catches himself fidgeting and makes himself stop. There are some things he preferred about being Tim Drake, Boy Wonder, and having control over his nervous tics was one of them.

“I think we have a good shot at finding them alive,” he says. Alive is something, anyway.

“Maybe so,” Bruce says. “Tim--” He hopes Tim doesn’t ask, because he really has no follow-up.

“Bruce,” Tim says. At this moment, they actually _don’t_ have anything better to do. They’re just waiting. Steph should have checked in by now. “Look at me.”

Bruce does, frowning. He doesn’t particularly like being addressed like a bad dog. “I’m aware of some of your feelings,” he says. “Your wife has made certain things clear even if you weren’t willing to. I have no plans to recruit your children, or--Dick and your wife. I have every intention of leaving you alone as soon as this is over with.”

“That’s not--” Tim takes a deep breath. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re trying to respect my wishes. But do you have to treat me like a stranger? I know it’s easier for you, but come on, we were--you were really important to me.” He fails to fight down a chuckle that comes out all wrong.

Bruce starts up from his chair, expression jagged. “Tim,” he says sharply. As if he knows what it’s been like. As if he’s known anything in decades. He moves toward Tim anyway, gets down on one knee so they’re not at such different levels. He ignores his knees, which scream at him. It’ll only be worse when he gets up. For now he just rests his elbow on the console and pretends it doesn’t hurt. “Tim,” he says again. “We can do this without your help if we have to. You don’t have to push. You always pushed.”

Tim can feel himself going pale. “I was so good,” he says quietly. “Good at the job, good to you. I might have even stayed, after everything--after the Joker. But you didn’t want a murderer in your nest, did you? You couldn’t even look at me when I really needed you.” So he lied to himself. He told himself the job was what he hated.

“No!” Bruce says, louder than he means to, before he means to at all. Every thing for weeks has been another blow. “No,” he says. Damn him, _damn_ him, he ruins everyone he touches. “That’s not--I never--”

“You just couldn’t learn how to communicate for five seconds to tell me what you really meant,” Tim says. “I know. I just wish I hadn’t let it ruin so much of my life.”

Bruce struggles to his feet and pushes back, forceful. He shouldn’t be here. _Tim_ shouldn’t be here. Everything that was going to be spoiled between them has been, and there’s no reclaiming it. There’s no defending himself. Even if his intentions were good (and maybe not all of them were), he can’t make the claim that he wanted to protect Tim after he’s let him suffer forty years for Bruce’s _embarrassment._

“I’m sorry,” he says. It sounds false and it’s vastly inadequate. “I meant what I said to Damian. All of you--all the things that happened to all of you, working with me--it’s my fault. I can’t say I expect you to feel better for hearing me say so.”

Tim wants to fucking cry. “Why wouldn’t that make me feel better?” he asks hoarsely. “I just wanted to know that I didn’t mess up. And then I was _angry_ for wanting to hear that, and--Bruce, this job was the best thing that ever happened to me, not counting Steph and the kids. I needed it like you needed it.” He still does. He’s still missing something, something to make him alive, not weak and afraid.

Bruce shakes his head, because this is the last thing he wants to hear. It means that it’s him, not the Joker, that has hurt Tim the worst. That Tim would have been fine, at least close to fine, if Bruce had been anyone else. Had been less stubborn and proud and--frightened. For one minute. For just _one_ of the children who got hurt because of him.

He has the fleeting awful thought that he’ll have another heart attack in the middle of this conversation. He wonders if he can will it away.

“You didn’t,” Bruce says, choked. “You didn’t mess up.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “Okay, then.” He looks at Bruce. He laughs, and it’s just a normal Tim laugh. A little sharp, a little brittle, but bright and easy. “Jesus Christ, Bruce.” If he were still sixteen, he might ask Bruce to hold him. He reaches out and puts his hand on Bruce’s arm, not sure where to go from there. “I need to let this go,” he says. “So I am. Okay? I’m sick of being scared and bitter all the time.” He always says _I don’t want to end up like you_ , but that’s not quite what he means. “I’m sick of both of us feeling that way.”

Bruce nods. “Naturally,” he says. Let it go. His syllables clunk out in order but they don’t sound real. Let it go because Tim needs it. He hears Max and the children at the top of the stairs. “They’re back,” he says. “Tell Max she and I have a meeting at the lab at three. I’m going to go see if I have any appropriate suits left. Not that my ‘assistant’ will.”

Tim thinks that will have to do, for now. Bruce is terrible at closure, but Tim is willing to try harder when Terry’s family is back safe, the Joker is dealt with, and the mystery of Jason is solved.

“It’s a plan,” he says. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.” He gestures at the still comm panel.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Bruce says, waving it off. He moves slowly up the stairs, hoping it looks no slower than his usual. When the children pass him by, he tells Max, “Tim will catch you up. Back in a minute.”

When Max and the kids come down and Bruce is gone, Tim shrugs and says, “You and Bruce are going to the lab at three.” What else is there to say?

“He really couldn’t stick around long enough to say that himself?” Max asks. “Well, whatever. Hey, Cass, that means you did a good job with the protein ID.”

“Where’s mom?” Damian asks, pushing past them to the console.

Tim swallows. He was trying not to think about it. “I don’t know. Well, no, look. She and Jason are still in Terry’s neighborhood. But I don’t know what they’re doing.”

Damian frowns. “They’ve been there awhile.”

“That could be good,” Tim says weakly. “Maybe they found something.” He just wants to talk to Steph, but in the back of his mind, he’s already practicing. _Spoiler. Jaybird._ He can do this.

“They’d have a panic button if something went really wrong, right?” Max says. “I think they’re just doing their job right. Either that or Baby Jay freaked out again and Steph had to sit him down for some quick therapy in Terry’s bedroom.” She starts to wince before she finishes talking. “Okay, that was less reassuring and a little more bad sex-y than I intended it to be. I’m pretty sure they’re fine.”

Tim wants to say that yes, they’re fine, just like he wants to tell Bruce that it’ll all be fine, just like he wanted to tell Terry it would all be fine. But he doesn’t know. He only knows what happened to him and Jason and Steph before, not what might happen this time around.

“I think we should check in,” he says. Because it might be fine, but it might not. “We can update the two of them on Batman and--Nightwing’s position.”

“You’re the boss,” Max says. Cassie and Damian don’t say anything, but they both look relieved at the decision, anyway.

Tim calls, and it’s an eternity before Steph answers.

“Spoiler,” Tim says when she does. He was getting scared, and angry, and he thinks it shows. “This is apparently your oracle speaking.”

“Ha,” Steph says weakly. “What’s up?”

“Nightwing and Batman checked the art store, and they had a potential lead to Saxon El. They’re headed over there now. News on your end?” Tim doesn’t hate this. Not entirely. It feels natural.

“We have Harley,” Steph says.

“Oh,” Tim says. He feels suddenly sick and weak, just when he was getting his feet again.

“She’s alone,” Jason says. He sounds worse than Tim feels. “She said she’s looking for her grandkids. I guess they were stupid enough to let the hostages go, and now the Joker wants them dead.”

“Oh,” Tim says again. This is horrible. It’s horrible for him and it’s horrible for Jason. He has to make it right. “You okay?”

“Me?” Jason says. “No. I promise I’ll keep it together for S-Spoiler.”

“We’re not losing anyone today,” Tim says. He’s dizzy with fear and the weight of the past, but he means every syllable. “Not you, not anyone. I’ll update the others about your situation. Need a pick-up on Harley? I can send Barbara’s people.”

“That might be good,” Jason says. “My solution was just beat her up.”

“I--don’t blame you,” Tim says. “Be careful. She might be old, but she probably has a few tricks.” He remembers perfectly well. “Spoiler--Just don’t do anything stupid. I know you won’t, but--I’ll send the cops. Okay? Oracle out.”

When the line goes dead, Tim leans back in his chair. He’s not shaking as much as he thought he would be. He’s not about to have a panic attack. He’s going to call the cops and everything is going to be fine.

The kids are all watching him.

“Oracle?” Cassie asks. 

“If I’m running comms,” Tim says, “I’d better have the answers.”

Max laughs. “Call it a rose ‘til it smells like a rose, huh? Check it out, kids, your dad’s a badass.”

“If you’re making fun,” Damian starts.

“Trust me,” says Max. “I’m not. And Oracle is an awesome name.”

“You’re okay, dad,” Cassie says. Not a question. She sounds a little surprised, which Tim feels bad about.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Be better once everyone’s home safe, though. Give me a second to call Barbara and her people.”

“We’ll get out of the way,” Max says. She puts down a cup of water, as promised. “And one for Bruce when he gets back,” she adds, setting down a second. “Cass, can I have one of yours?” Cass hands her a glass and they all scoot out of the way, over to the display cases where the Robins are. Cassie and Damian, Max thinks, got adopted into the weirdest possible family.

“So,” she says, “how long have you guys been living with your mom and dad?”

“Five years for me,” Cassie says. It feels like longer. “Seven for Damian.”

“They seem like really good parents,” Max says. “Although, you know what, I’d love to get to talk to them when they’re not stressing out.” She eyes Damian. “What about Mr. Grayson?”

“A couple years,” Cassie says. “A little bit after dad--got really sick.” She knows that’s not exactly what happened. “He didn’t move in all at once, though.” No matter how slowly Dick moved, though, it wasn’t slow enough for Damian.

“He’s known your dad and mom since they were all kids, right?” Max says. “Younger than me?” 

Damian looks uncomfortable. He goes a little hunched and if he were kind of a different kid, Max would say he’s pouting.

Cassie gives Damian a hard pat on the head. “He helped train our dad, I think. Mom talks about it sometimes. I think--I think he’s really good when dad has a bad day.”

“Well, I mean, it’s pretty good if he came around and stuck with it _after_ things got tough, right?” Max says.

“It was just ‘cause dad was sad,” Damian mutters. “He shouldn’t have showed up when everything was bad and made dad like him more than us.” Maybe Damian is starting to like Dick a little, and Dick _did_ help with that thing, earlier, but he doesn’t want Max to come around telling him to be grateful.

“Dad doesn’t like anyone better than us,” Cass says firmly. “He picked us, remember? Although he probably didn’t know you bite.”

Damian bares his teeth. “Mongoose,” he says.

“Hmm,” says Max. “Well, I’ve seen how Dick looks at you guys--I mean you two, not just your mom and dad. I think he picked you, too. It’s obvious he’s crazy about you. Every time Damian’s mean to him he looks like he’s going to cry.”

“I know,” Cassie says guiltily. She wasn’t too nice to him at first, either. “I think it’s probably okay that he’s staying. He doesn’t even get mad when we’re bad.”

“I wonder,” Max says thoughtfully. She looks over at Tim, determinedly talking on the phone, looking more lively than he has since he showed up. “How were things before your dad got sick? Good?”

“Perfect,” Damian says. Out of habit. And it’s the truth, right? He remembers being mad, madder than he ever is now, but they were always good to him. And then Cassie came, and he was mad about that, but once they were allies, they were allies to the death. Perfect.

“So why didn’t Dick come around when everything was perfect?” Max asks. “He must have known there was this ideal family of his best friends right around the corner that whole time.”

“I don’t know,” Cassie says, frowning. “Maybe he thought we didn’t need him?” Although maybe they needed something. Even before dad got sick, he wasn’t _well_. He still had panic attacks and nightmares. And Cassie forgot how not to hurt people a lot more often.

“Yeah,” Max says. “That’s my thought.”

“What, like he was just waiting to take advantage?” Damian says, stormy-faced and guilty. He doesn’t think that’s what Max means. He doesn’t think Dick would do that, really. Dick did good for him today, and Damian doesn’t think he told, either.

“I was thinking more like when your dad got hurt, he couldn’t make himself stay away anymore,” Max says. “Even though he thought you wouldn’t want him.” She shrugs. “Maybe not. I’m not him, I don’t know him that well. But I’d have to be pretty impossibly gone on someone to put up with them the way he puts up with you guys. No offense.”

“Not offended,” Cassie says. She knows they’re a lot of work. All of them, even mom, sometimes. With Dick, they’re even trying to be. “I hope he’s okay. I hope he and dad don’t have a big fight about this.”

Damian is staring at his knees, his lip turning further and further down.

“Damian?” Max says. “You okay?”

Damian nods, although his eyes are too large and bright.

Cassie isn’t sure if Damian is going to cry or scream. “You’re okay, goose,” she says. “But we should be nicer to Dick. He—doesn’t have to be dad.” Max is right about how Dick feels when Damian’s mean.

Damian’s tough expression falls apart. “I know that!” He sees Tim sign off from his call and sniffs anxiously. He doesn’t want to cry in front of his dad. He doesn’t want to make things _worse._ He doesn’t mean to screw up or scare people. He doesn’t want to be the freaky thing you sic on people when you want them really messed up. He doesn’t want to sic himself on people who don’t deserve it. 

Dick helped him when Jason got scared and that thing was in the car. Probably Dick was good the whole time. He’s good, and Damian’s just like _this._ “I d-didn’t mean it.” He did mean it, but he didn’t know when he did it that he was _wrong._ But he’s just been bullying somebody who likes them and won’t leave.

“I know,” Cassie says. She pulls him into a tight hug. “Trust sucks.” Dick is a cop, and he was Nightwing, so he definitely knows that. He might even know by now how bad Cassie and Damian can be, and that they don’t mean it.

“Sorry,” Max says. She’s not very sorry. Seems like Damian, at least, needs a little kick in the pants to get him treating Dick right. Max likes Dick, because Dick doesn’t like Bruce, but somehow also doesn’t get shitty about Terry. That shows some distinction.

“We didn’t learn everything right, the first time,” Cassie says defensively. She wants to explain that Damian was bad when she came along, and supposedly worse before, and that it’s not his fault he’s a little behind on being friendly.

“You know, the grownups have probably talked about that,” Max says.

Cassie doesn’t know if she likes that. Everyone is always talking about everything. What if they talk themselves out of Cassie and Damian? 

“Probably,” she says.

Dad is looking at them, probably wondering what they’re talking about.

Max laughs, then stifles it. “I don’t mean it in a bad way,” she says. “I mean they probably get why you’re angry. Dick probably gets it.”

“I don’t like that,” Damian says.

“But they like you,” Max says. “They get you. I’d try trusting them. Including Dick.”

“I do,” Cassie says. “Mom and dad, anyway.”

“Ugh,” says Max. “Fine. That’s all I’ve got for heart-to-heart with pipsqueaks. Is the old man ever coming back? Old people spend forever peeing.”

“Think he’s okay?” Tim calls over. “I think I got him pretty upset.”

“You were _listening_ ,” Damian says accusingly.

“Not really,” Tim tells Damian apologetically. He just has good ears.

“You want someone to check?” says Max.

“Sure, thanks, Max. Just to make sure he’s not hurt or anything.”

“Cool,” says Max. She leaves the kids to their dad and creeps into the main house. Paranoid? Yeah. Because she’s got brains. She shuts the door behind her and goes into the kitchen. Bruce isn’t there, and she almost leaves. Except someone’s coming downstairs. Not normally. Not...one person? She hears Bruce’s voice and she hears a low laugh.

“Oh fuck,” she whispers to herself. She bites her lip before she can say it again. _Oh, oh, oh, fuck._ She starts to look for a weapon and a place to hide.


	23. tonight the foxes hunt the hounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP

Dick and Terry head for the elementary school. Dick is feeling pretty good about the situation, under the circumstances. If Mary and Matt are free, there’s a good chance for them. Of course, there’s no telling what sort of shape they’ll be in.

 _Good enough to get away,_ he reminds himself, and holds on to that thought.

When they pull up outside the school, Dick asks, “You good?”

“I’m good,” Terry says. “Good as can be. Come on, let’s go in.”

He’s not careful about this one, because no one is coming back to look for damage and no one’s livelihood is going to be injured if he kicks a few doors down.

Dick follows, reminding himself not to reach for a gun that isn’t there. He’s gotten too used to being a cop for fighting crime with his bare hands to come as easily as it did.

“Starting at the top,” Terry says. The building has three floors, and there’s a stairwell down the hall. Terry starts up it two at a time.

“Split up?” Dick calls after him. It doesn’t really matter if they do or not. If the Joker’s here, he’ll be just as much trouble either way.

“Sure,” Terry says over his shoulder. If they were here, if they’re gone now, he wants to know fast. He doesn’t allow the hope that they might be here still.

“Meet you at the doors in ten,” Dick says. He doesn’t wish Terry luck, or anything distracting like that.

He starts with the bottom floor. There’s very little chance he’ll catch the Joker off guard if he is here, so he’d rather make a little noise and find Terry’s family faster. Besides, they don’t know him. He doesn’t want to get hit because he creeped up on them.

“Anyone here?” he calls softly into a few empty classrooms.

He’s halfway down the hall when he notices someone following him.

He freezes immediately. If it’s the Joker, he’s probably screwed anyway. “I’m one of the good guys,” he says loudly, in case it’s not. He’s ready to see if he can still backflip out of the way if he gets shot at. It could just be someone camped out here.

It’s a woman. She’s looking at him hard, her hand on a pushbroom like it’s a weapon instead of a tool.

“My name is Dick,” Dick says. “I’m looking for someone. I thought they might come here.”

“Dick Grayson?”

Dick frowns. “Yes,” he says.

“I didn’t know Nightwing had come out of retirement,” the woman says. “Or worked in daylight. Is my son alive?”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut. Holy shit. “Yes,” he says. “He’s upstairs looking for you.”

There’s a small hammer in her other hand, clean with tags on. She must have lifted it from the art store. It’s a lot better choice for an untrained person than a knife or a gun. A hammer can hurt, even a small one, and you’re not as likely to hurt yourself in a panic as you might be with a real weapon. Her fist squeezes tight.

“Anyone could say that,” she says, and Dick is sure. He recognizes her face from pictures, even though they’ve never met. “Who exactly are you talking about?”

“Terry,” Dick says. “Or Batman, if you prefer. I can call him down, if you want. Is Matt with you?”

“Whoever you’re with, call him,” Mary says. She ignores the question.

He’s impressed. She’s alive, she doesn’t look hurt, and she’s not messing around. You can see where Terry came from.

They may have ditched the suits, but they’ve still got the earbuds. Dick goes local.

“Ter,” he says.

“What’s up?” Terry says. He sounds impatient and like he’s trying not to be.

“I found your mom,” Dick says. 

There’s silence.

“She wants to see you,” Dick says. “She doesn’t trust me. Just get down here.”

Terry doesn’t sign off, which is not how it’s supposed to work, but it wouldn’t be unlike Bruce to do the same, in situations that warranted it less.

“He’s on his way,” Dick says shakily. “Do you need a doctor? Ambulance?” She looks fine, but what does that mean?

“No thanks,” Mary says, keeping her distance. “I’ll wait.”

Which she does, until half a minute later Terry comes pounding downstairs. He sticks his head around the corner of the stairwell. Mary clenches her fists, one on the hammer, one on the broom. 

“Sorry,” Terry says, after a pause. “I didn’t know where _down here_ was.” He sounds like he’s dragging the words out of storage. “Mom?” 

“ _Terry_ ,” Mary says. His _face_. Doesn’t matter, though. “Come here,” she says, dropping the hammer. “Come here, honey.” He doesn’t look like Batman. He looks like a kid.

Terry’s expression does something close to falling, except that he looks so desperately hopeful that falling is the wrong word. He rushes to her, while Dick gets out of the way, and grabs her tight enough that both their ribs creak.

“Mom,” he says, barely. His voice is shaking. “Mom. Mom. Mom.” He bites down to stop saying it, but he doesn’t think he is. No time to cry, because they’re not _safe_ yet. His vision is off, but he has to focus. 

He pulls back. “Where’s Matt?”

“Safe,” she says. She’s crying. “Here. He’s in a classroom down the hall. I can--Matt! Matt, it’s your brother!” She doesn’t let go of Terry. Won’t let go, not until they’re home and the Joker’s dealt with.

Matt emerges a few seconds later, large-eyed and jittery. “Terry?” His voice is hoarse. He rushes over to them. “Hey! Hey, you okay?” He grabs onto Terry, avoiding his jaw. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, or what to say.

“Heh!” Terry says. “Hi, kid!” He works up to a brief, startling grin for a second, and grabs Matt into a bear hug that squashes all of the air out of him. He kisses him on top of his head and gives him another, tighter squeeze. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry. Shit. Shit. Are you--? Sorry, first things first. Are you guys hurt? Is anyone following you?”

“Not hurt,” Matt says, face buried in Terry’s shoulder.

“I don’t know if anyone’s following us,” Mary says. “The Joker must be looking for us, but as far as I know, he hasn’t picked up our trail.”

“Are _you_ hurt, you stupid jerk?” Matt demands. “What happened to you? What happened to your face?”

“I’m fine,” Terry says. “I mean, I got a little concussion. It’s fine! We should get somewhere safe--this is pretty safe, we can just take a minute--” He stops and tries to catch his breath, looks over at Dick, who is maybe more used to this kind of thing than he is.

“I can watch out the window,” Dick offers, pointing over to the stairwell. It doesn’t make a huge difference, but he thinks maybe what Terry needs before they go running for the manor is a minute with his family to himself. Sure enough, Terry nods, and Dick puts himself farther away.

Matt keeps his arm around Terry’s waist. “We didn’t know what happened to you,” he says.

“Oh,” Terry says dumbly. “Did he--did he say I was dead?”

“For a long time, he wouldn’t say anything,” Mary says. “We couldn’t tell. The last time we saw you, you looked—” Her face drains of color and for a moment, the words hang. “But he wouldn’t have kept us alive for long if you were dead. That’s what I thought.”

“Some days he said you were anyway,” Matt says quietly. “But…sometimes he said you were looking for us. He said he’d kill you if you found us.”

Terry isn’t surprised.

“He was playing a game,” he says. “With me. For you. But you guys got away. That wasn’t his plan. How did you--?”

“The short answer is Harley,” Mary says. “But it doesn’t matter. Terry, you look awful.”

“I’m not--” Terry starts, and then, “Hang on. Max?” His expression changes, and his eyes flick up to Dick, over to Matt and Mary. “What do you mean, you’ve got the Joker?” 

~

Bruce’s heart races, long after he’s done climbing the stairs. He can’t quiet it. He’s killing all of them, his partners, and he always has been. He stumbles against the dresser as he goes into the bedroom and curses himself for being cruel, but even more for being cowardly. This is the place he’s brought them all. He will probably die for it, soon. He can’t imagine how he’ll live with it.

“Poor Bruce,” says the Joker. “What a failure. Can’t even manage a little alone time even when you’ve beaten off everyone who loved you. Ha! _Beaten off._ ”

Bruce’s blood freezes. He’d forgotten. Of course the Joker knows where he lives. And maybe the Joker _is_ finally willing to kill him. There’s nothing else he can force Bruce to lose or give up. There’s no fight, no game, no joke.

“So you’re here,” Bruce says.

“As if I’d go anywhere else,” the Joker says. “Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. You know, I think you find this a little tiresome, am I right?” He stands upright from his position against the wall. “I try my best to diversify. Tried out your little replacement, but he couldn’t even keep his real name secret for a couple of weeks! Of course, he was only stealing _your_ real name.”

“You know me,” Bruce says, hollow and certain. Between everyone in this house, all his flaws are laid bare. “And now you’re here to finish it.”

“Here I am!” the Joker agrees. “So tell me, Batman, what have you been up to since the last time we talked that’s aged you so _badly?”_

“It’s you, of course,” Bruce says gruffly. Because the truth is worse, and because he’s suddenly remembered the worst that can happen. His death is not the worst. What happens after is. If he lets the Joker get his hands on Tim again, that--no. Worse than that. The children. Bruce would do almost anything--no, say it, _anything_ \--to keep the Joker away from Damian.

“Aww,” says the Joker. “Missed me? But you’ve got all these nice friends around to keep you company and hurt your _feelings. Honestly,_ Batman, I’m disappointed. I think you’ve lost your way a little.” He smiles too widely. “Should we go ask your friends what they think about that?”

“No!” The word is out before he can stop it, but it doesn’t matter. The Joker knows him too well. His only hope is that he’ll be an ineffective hostage to threaten Tim with.

The Joker slams his fist on Bruce’s dresser, grinning and grinning. He looks furious. “What happened, Batman?” he hisses. “What happened to the man who wouldn’t give? When did you get all brittle and boring?” _Boring_ isn’t the word. It’s obvious the Joker _hates_ it. “You sicken me. Almost too pathetic to play with.”

But then he brightens. “Oh well. That never stopped me! Might as well put you in your misery before I put you out of it!” He lunges forward.

Bruce brings up an arm to block him, all instinct. “I’m not Batman,” he growls. It’s the only thing he knows that will hurt the Joker.

The Joker flinches, but he still hits Bruce, a blow to the side of the face that knocks him right off his feet. “All right,” he forces out, a biting hiss. “Then you’re a pathetic old man with no friends who’s in my way. Maybe I’ll kill you first instead of last?”

“And what do you think the others will do to you?” Bruce asks. His head is swimming, but he’s had decades of practice hiding it when he’s hurt. “If not Batman, what about Tim? He killed you once.”

The Joker laughs. Bruce can hear it bubbling up, wanting to burst out louder and louder until it’s a scream, but the Joker must not want to be heard. He leans down close. “Psssst,” he whispers. “Let me tell you a secret. Old Tim is one brave face away from Arkham.”

Bruce can’t hide the gasp. It’s the worst thought, the one he’s never said aloud. The Joker will always say these things for him, though.

“That’s right, old boy,” the Joker whispers. He seizes Bruce’s hair and then wrenches his head back, like touching him is infuriating. “The kiddies are a treat, Timmy’s, of course, and what’s left of the _bad_ little Robin.”

“No,” Bruce says again. “No, no,” and somehow through the pain it becomes, “no, they won’t let you.” He has to believe that.

“Oh my,” the Joker says. “What is that I’m hearing? It’s almost like you want your precious damaged ducklings to commit a murder. I guess you really have fallen.”

“I’m not the boss anymore,” Bruce forces out between his teeth. “I can’t stop them either. I’m not so sure I’d want to.” Maybe if he stalls long enough, Terry will at least get his family to safety.

“I don’t think you would,” the Joker says thoughtfully. “Just what I’ve always wanted. The Batman is ruined. Oh well! Pipe dreams are always disappointing when they come true! So sudden, so sad. Let’s go see the family, shall we?” He hauls Bruce upright.

Bruce stumbles and nearly falls again. Embarrassing. His heart is still racing. _I’m going to watch my son die_ , he thinks.

The Joker shakes him a little. “Not even trying? Your boys tried their hardest even when they knew they were dead. They still had the look.” He looks bored, and disgusted. Betrayed, which is sickening, but not a surprise.

Maybe the Joker is right and Bruce is ruined. Maybe becoming a man willing to kill has taken the fight out of him. But if he can kill the Joker here with his own hands, none of his family will have to be afraid again. If Bruce kills the Joker, he won’t come back, and it doesn’t matter that it would be because he was finally victorious.

Bruce grabs hold of him and throws both their bodies against the wall, dislodging the Joker’s grip.

The Joker swallows a giggle. “Better. But no.” He rams Bruce’s arms behind him and forces him through the door. “I. Want. To see. The kids!”

Bruce fights. No more dead children on his watch, no more. The conversation with Tim has left him sapped of his strength, but he feels it returning now in a wave of cold fury. 

The Joker is so much younger than he is.

The Joker is angrier and angrier the more mortal Bruce becomes. He used to be so strong that the mere idea that the Joker could fight him and win was unspeakably stupid. And now he’s still large, and fit for his age, and frenzied, and the Joker can throw him where he wants and feel the bones under his thin, soft skin.

“Down, old boy,” the Joker says, chuckling ceaselessly. “Down like a dog. Like _your_ dog! What a quiet little pooch!”

Bruce cries out, furious and desperate. “Tim!” he shouts next, because if he can make Tim hear, maybe Barbara can get here in time. He tries to bite, to punch, but he’s too slow and nothing is connecting. It’s like a nightmare, and he’s had this one before. “Monster,” he spits. “Does this feel like winning to you?” Or are they both losing?

“ _Shut up,_ ” the Joker orders, a thin growl. They are on the stairs, no one in sight. No Tim, no children, no Maxine. No dog. “If there’s no winning, might as well throw it all on the fire at once. Did anyone mention the bad little present I sent to Jason earlier? I dropped it off when ole’ Timmy’s house was blowing up.”

That throws Bruce. “What present?”

“A nice little token of memory,” the Joker says. “Although if he’s as daisy-fresh as I am, he probably doesn’t strictly speaking _need_ the reminder. Still. Might jog a few things, seeing his own blood, _forty_ years gone by. Old, young, and dead. That’s your Robin.”

“And you wonder how I can want you dead.” Bruce’s voice is almost a whisper.

“Not surprised!” the Joker says. They reach the bottom of the stairs. “There’s no _surprise_ to you anymore, Batty. That’s the trouble of it all. I’m only disillusioned. Now since all the kids have been nice enough to show me the way to your _lair_ \--”

“Max!” Bruce shouts. A last attempt. There is blood in his mouth and he has to try, for Damian.

The Joker knows about the clock. He goes straight to it and starts to rush them both down the stairs, jostling Bruce and cackling, louder and louder and into a howl as they come into the view of Tim Drake and his children, alone and waiting for them.

~

Tim hears the door at the top of the stairs, but before he can open his mouth to ask if Bruce is okay, he hears the laugh. For one sick second, he thinks he’s doing it. Then he realizes the much worse truth. To his surprise, he doesn’t black out or dissociate.

Damian and Cass see his face. They’re not stupid. They both go very still.

Cass murmurs, “Dad. What should we do?”

“Carport,” Damian mutters back. “Us. Now. Right?”

“Good boy,” Tim whispers. “Call mom. _Go_.” At least they can get out. He isn’t going to run while the Joker has Bruce or Max.

Cass hesitates. “But you--”

Damian pulls her over to the pad.

“Go,” Tim hisses after them. He’s being stupid. Max is probably dead, and now Tim will be dead too, all for Bruce. Dead or crazy. Once the kids go, though, rising up out of sight and out of reach, he feels a surreal sense of calm settle over him. He can breathe better the higher it reaches. This is the job. He can do this.

The pad has reached the surface by the time Bruce and the Joker appear. The kids will know what to do. Cass can drive the bike if she has to. They’ll get clear.

“Oh!” the Joker says, ten steps up. “No more kiddies! Send nanny away to coo over the babies, did we?”

Tim and Bruce exchange a look. So Max isn’t dead. But Bruce, Tim thinks, looks halfway there. He’s bruised and bleeding and only half upright. It looks so wrong on him.

“Yeah,” Tim says quietly. “Just the three of us.”

“So somber,” the Joker says. “You never used to be so grim, Tim. Grim Tim! HAH! Now, Tim, you may have been the last for a while, but I’m not so sure you were the best. McGinnnis is a lot of fun, after all. And little Jason Todd was—simply delicious.” He lets Bruce go, half a dozen steps up. Too fast. His voice curls down into a purr and vaults up again, layer on layer of laughter that won’t stopp.

Tim rushes forward to stop Bruce’s fall and they both go down, Tim catching himself in a kneeling position, Bruce pushing himself up from the floor. “Weapons?” Tim mutters. He wonders if Bruce can feel him shaking, then he realizes he isn’t. He’s not shaking at all.

“Not here,” Bruce says hoarsely. “The cabinets at the back.”

“I can see you plotting from here,” the Joker says. “How wonderful.” He reaches them and grins and grins.

Tim stands up. He’s almost as white as the Joker. “You can beat up an old man, but what about me?”

“Another old man? You’re not looking so sprightly yourself, kiddo,” the Joker says, making an ugly expression of concern. “Say, do you think those kids of yours are in on the killing party? I hope so! I hope they dig up the ol’ crowbar and come right back here to bash some brains out!”

Tim doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he still has to resist the urge to hit him. “They won’t be back,” he says. “They get their intelligence from me.” The Joker’s biggest flaw is that he loves to gloat. Maybe they can hold him off until there’s backup. He’s got to hope so, even though there’s no reason for backup to come.

The Joker narrows his eyes. “Cute.” Eyes widening, hands raised. “But fair! You weren’t stupid like our little Jay-Jay. You were just stupid _enough.”_ He shakes his head regretfully. “Too bad, really, that you blew it by killing me. You might’ve been happy if you’d just stuck to the plan. You might have been happy with a smile on your face. Tell me, Robin, how often do you wake up in the night and wish you’d never woken up at all?”

Tim can see, sometimes, what the inside of the Joker’s head looks like. He can remember. He wonders if that, more than guilt, is why Bruce can’t look at him anymore. “Joke’s on you,” he says. “I am happy.” Today, in the cave, he has been. He doesn’t watch Bruce react.

“Ugh,” the Joker says, pulling a face. “All right. None of you are fun. Better kill everyone and start fresh! I’ve got my health, anyway.” He pulls out a handgun and a knife. “Now, which of you to start with?”

“Are your guns ever loaded?” Tim asks mockingly.

“Don’t taunt him,” Bruce snaps.

“Or what?” the Joker asks. “I kill you more?” He fires at Tim’s knee. 

Tim moves, but he’s older and out of practice. The bullet hits his leg. He screams and buckles to the ground.

“So very loaded,” the Joker says. “Well. Shall w--”

Gunshot echoes through the cave and the Joker spins. Another shot. His head swivels as he searches for the sources.

“What little bird--”

There’s a third shot, and they still can’t see where it’s coming from, and—

The Joker goes down.


	24. in poison places (we are antivenom)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: violence  
> BOOP BOOP DE DOOP MORE CHAPTERS

Tim sobs, one long, awful sound. He’s not smiling, though. That registers distantly as a good thing.

“Oh,” Bruce says softly, looking up the stairs.

“Is he dead?” Max shouts. Her voice is higher than usual.

“Yes!” Bruce calls. He pushes the Joker partially upright to check. “Definitely. Come down.”

Max does, slowly. She’s gripping the banister with both hands. The gun is in her waistband.

“Don’t freak out,” she says. “I t-take l-lessons.” She stops dead when she sees the Joker, stares at Tim and Bruce, and screams, “ _Why_ the _hell?”_ That covers everything. It doesn’t cover quite enough.

“It’s okay,” Tim says raggedly. “It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t!” Max shouts. “What are you talking about? Did he shoot you? Okay.” She wobbles past them and steals Tim’s cape out of the case. “And f-first aid,” she says, plonks down, and starts tying off Tim’s injury.

“It’s really okay,” Tim says weakly. “I, I moved. Didn’t get the kneecap. Gonna be fine. Robin.”

“You’re a liar,” Max says shakily, keeping pressure on Tim’s leg. “Mr. Wayne, call your doctor.”

Bruce ignores the _Robin_ , and how much Tim is bleeding. “Where are the children?”

“They got out,” Tim says.

 

Bruce discovers that he can stand and goes to the comm panel. “Dr. Thompkins,” he says, pressing the button to connect.

Behind him, Tim winces. “Gotta call Steph and the others.”

“Next,” says Max. “Help me put pressure on it.” She glimpses the Joker behind her. The Joker’s leering mess of a dead body. “Oh my _God,”_ she says. “This is the worst. Can you call the kids back? I didn’t hear an engine or anything, they’re probably still around. We should call them before they go too far away.”

“I don’t want them to see,” Tim says. He doesn’t know what they’ve seen before, but this is awful.

“Okay,” Max says, “but you’re all right. You’re going to be. You know that. Missed an artery. He’s got the doc on the line.”

Tim smiles weakly. “Thanks. You--you know what would have happened if you hadn’t… _Thank you._ Can we move the body and then I’ll call the kids?”

Max says, “Keep your hands where you’ve got ‘em. I’ll do it. Where to?”

Tim doesn’t think he’s been as brave as Max is being now since he was sixteen. “There’s a little room at the back,” he says, shrugging in the right direction.

“Good,” Bruce says to the phone. “I want to keep it for now. See about the DNA.” He signs off.

“You better have just asked for a fucking ambulance,” Max says. “Okay. Fuck. I don’t use that--fuck. Okay.” She gets up and grabs the Joker under his arms, looking away from the place where the bullet hit.

“I did,” Bruce says, “but we have to get upstairs. We can use the lift.” 

“Obviously,” Max says angrily. “Halfway there. Can you please help Tim so he can call the kids?”

“Sorry,” Bruce says, “yes.” He goes to Tim and holds the cape in place. “You’re doing a wonderful job,” he tells Max numbly.

Tim nods, watching Max with pride and horror. “I’ll get the kids to meet us at the top.” He calls Cassie.

Max opens the door. It takes a few seconds and a real effort not to scream or throw up to touch the Joker again. But she gets her hands under his arms and drags him. She ignores everything else in the room, and she locks it behind her. A locked door, between her at that body. She’s doing great. She wants to scream and then cry.

Tim waits through the interminable ringing and Bruce keeps an eye on Max.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

“Uh,” Max says. She comes back over, trying not to react strongly to _anything_.

“I know,” Bruce says calmly, as if his hands aren’t covered in Tim’s blood. “It’s horrific.”

“How do you know?” Max says. “Your whole thing is not killing people.”

“ _I_ know,” Tim says. “I know exactly.” He hangs up. Max watches him school his face blank. “I’m going to try Damian. We can talk later, Max. We should.”

“Oh good,” Max says, “talking.” She smiles, sort of to show she really is grateful.

“Good team,” Tim says. He gives the phone a little shake. “Come on, Damian.”

“God, I hope he’s all right,” Bruce mutters.

Tim gives him a sharp look. “I think both the kids are fine.”

If this is drama, it’s nothing Max needs to know about. She says, “Let’s get outside.”

Bruce isn’t badly hurt. He helps Max move Tim onto the lift. By the time they reach daylight, Tim is white and shaking again.

“How many minutes does an ambulance take around here?” Max demands. “Also--hang on.” She cups her hands around her mouth and bellows, “CASS. DAMIAN. ALL. CLEAR.” She coughs. “Might help.”

Tim smiles in thanks. He just wants—“I want to call Dick and Steph,” he says.

“Soon,” Bruce says. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He grips Tim’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Tim.”

Tim shakes his head and then wishes he hadn’t. Dizzy.

“Something’s coming!” Max says. “Two somethings. Kids on the lawn, car at the gate.”

“Cass! Damian!” Tim looks sick with relief.

When they see him sitting down, weight on Bruce, they start to run. As soon as they reach him, Tim grabs them into his arms, while Bruce hurries, frowning, to keep pressure on his leg. “Oh god,” Tim gasps. “Oh my god. You _are_ okay. It’s okay, guys.”

“What did you _do?_ ” Cassie shrieks, and then bites her lip.

“There’s mom,” Damian says, pointing.

Steph runs to them, leaving the car door ajar. Jason keeps up at Steph’s shoulder, pale and frayed. “Tim, Tim, what happened?” Steph asks. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

“It was the Joker,” Tim says quietly, mindful that Jason’s here. “But he’s dead now.”

“Who killed him?” Jason asks. “Where is he?” Bad to ask in front of the kids? He can’t care.

“Max,” Tim says. “Max did. He’s in the cave. He’s definitely dead. Oh, god.” Now that Jason’s here, he’s having trouble keeping it together.

“Are you all right, Jay?” Bruce demands.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Sure. Why not. Hey, Drake...”

“He’s fine,” Max says.

His whole family glares.

“I mean it! He’s not still bleeding, unless Bruce is an anticoagulant. Okay? And there’s an ambulance coming.”

“He’s in the cave?” Damian asks quietly.

“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce says. “I’m very glad you two are all right.”

“Which two?” Jason asks. “Oh, you meant there’s an ambulance _now_.” He squints at Max. “How’d you hear that so far away?”

“Bat ears,” Max says.

“Max is the best,” Cassie says in a tiny voice.

“No fucking kidding,” Steph says. “You good, Max?”

“Next person who asks I’m gonna punch,” Max says. “It’s gonna hurt because I don’t know how to punch people, but I’m gonna do it. Excuse me a minute.”

“We need to call Dick and Terry,” Bruce says.

“Yes, we should. And you should come in the ambulance,” Tim says. “But Steph, can you--”

“Dick,” Steph says. “Yeah.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Max yells over the siren before it cuts out. “Oh, hey, pal. Just checking in. Thought we’d let you know that we got the Joker.”

There’s a collective hush as they all watch Max and the phone. The paramedics, climbing out of the ambulance, look a little puzzled.

Max puts her hand over the phone. “Sorry,” she says. “Not here. Someone want to come be a Drake-Brown-Grayson family rep?”

Steph nods, looking a little dazed.

“Hang on, Ter, we’ve got some company, wait until we’re around a corner or--you _what?”_ Max brightens, which somehow makes her distress more obvious. “Oh, my god. This is the best worst day ever.” She smiles at everyone. “They found ‘em,” she says. “They found Terry’s family. They’re okay.” As inevitable as it might have been at this point, Max feels over the moon. Everyone gets to come home. She eyes the paramedics, lifting Tim up on a gurney. It’s okay. _Everyone_ gets. To. Come. Home.

Steph rubs her hands across her face. “ _Jesus_. Good. Is—is Dick there? Can I talk to him for a second?” She just wants to collect everyone in the same place and give them a cold drink and a second to breathe.

“Yeah,” Max says, walking away and hopefully dragging Steph behind. She doesn’t look at anyone else’s face. Too overwhelming. “Hey, Ter, is Dick there? Great. Here’s Steph.” She passes the phone back.

“Dick?” Steph says, following Max. “You found them?”

“Yeah, we found them,” Dick says. “They’re fine. Terry said—”

“The Joker’s dead,” Steph says. It doesn’t sound real. “Max did it.”

“Oh,” Dick says, like a sigh. “Oh. God. You’re okay? Is Tim--where _was_ he? What about the kids? Max must be--no, I bet she’s keeping her cool. Tough cookie. Bruce is all right, isn’t he? Was he in the manor? Are you at the manor? Was Tim there? What’s going on?” He pauses, and Steph can hear someone in the background. “Okay, Terry’s brother is telling me I’m asking too many questions at once.”

Steph laughs. “He must really be okay, then. I--I’m not completely sure how it went down. I just got back here. The kids are fine. Bruce is a little banged up. He and Tim are headed to the hospital.” She takes a deep breath. “The Joker shot Tim in the leg. But he’s doing okay.”

The reassurance doesn’t stop Dick from making a small noise. “We’ll--we should--I’m not sure where we should head from here. I--what hospital? We should maybe bring the McGinnises back to the manor.” He laughs. “I don’t know why I’m so rattled. Business as usual, right?”

“It’s not always this personal,” Steph says. “Bring Terry home. I’ll meet you here.”

“All right,” Dick says. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Steph says. She wants to sit down and bawl.

Max takes the phone back. “Terry? Hi. We’ll see you all in a bit. Drive safe, okay?” Assuming the stupid Batmobile has room for four. She hangs up and looks at Steph. “So…why were you guys coming back? You didn’t comm in.”

Steph says, carefully, “Jay decided he’d rather sit this one out.”

She’s afraid Max will be a jerk about it, but Max just nods. “The last thing I want to do right now is suit up Robin style and fight the Joker again, and he didn’t even touch me.” She shivers. “Sorry. Wanna head back?” 

Steph doesn’t need to be told twice.

When they get back on the main lawn, the ambulance is gone, but the kids—Damien, Cassie, and Jason too—are there in a motley little bunch. Steph lifts Damian right up. “Hey, guys,” she says. She ruffles Cassie’s hair. “You did a really, really good job.”

“All we did was run away,” Damian says. He knows that was the right idea, but he has to be tough. Dad was covered in blood, and Max was scared, and Bruce looked too upset. And now Jason is back here, looking bad, and Damian has to worry about him too. 

“I hid,” Max offers.

“Okay, and then you killed the bad guy,” Cassie says bluntly.

“Ugh,” says Max. “I’m going to forget that as soon as possible.”

“You were all amazing,” Steph says. “Seriously. Good teamwork. Listen, guys, we’re going to hang out until Terry and Dick get back. All right?”

“Oh, good,” Jason says limply. 

His energy seems to wear out all at once. Max kind of gets that. At least she knows the McGinnises, but two thirds of everybody is at the hospital, and Terry will have his family, his kidnap-victim family, which is going to be awful, and the Joker is dead in the basement, and Tim’s blood is all over, and Max murdered somebody. And Jason is supposed to be dead, and instead he’s here having panic attacks in the front hall. And he’s probably having sex with Mary McGinnis’s son. And whatever he and Steph were up to, it didn’t go right.

“You and me can hang out,” she says, deadpan.

She has to trust that the glimmer of hope is there, just invisible to the naked eye.

Steph turns to Damian. “How was dad before I got here?”

Damian and Cassie look at each other. “Bruce made him kind of mad,” Cassie says.

“He doesn’t like it here,” Damian says, scowling. “Neither do I. I want to go--”

He’s totally forgotten, until he starts to say it, that home is _gone._ He shuts his mouth, cheeks hot. He wants to go _somewhere else._ That’s good enough, right?

“We’ll go somewhere,” Steph promises. “First we’ve got to see dad at the hospital.” And then where will they go? How long will Tim be admitted? She’s pretty sure Dick has kept up an apartment, although he hasn’t said as much. They might have somewhere to go, even if it’s cramped.

Jason looks around him, finds a clean spot of ground, and sits down. He doesn’t know what to think. How to think. He’s mostly feeling rather than thinking, just now, and the feeling is _numb._ “Joker’s dead,” he points out conversationally.

“ _Good_ ,” Damian says. “He wasn’t got for anything. He was bad all the way.” He _is_ glad the Joker’s dead, and he wishes he’d done it, but he feels all crawly when he thinks about it too hard.

Jason blinks, very slowly, and tries to back away without moving from the dizzy rush he feels coming up through his lungs. “Fair enough,” he says. Comes out like a croak.

“Hey,” Max says. “Hey, little Jay. You okay over there?”

“Fine,” Jason says, which fools probably no one, but he doesn’t care if they’re fooled so long as they leave him alone. He gets up. “I’m just gonna take a minute,” he says loudly. He starts walking towards the house. He does not turn around. Maybe if he just sits in his room for a minute. Or forever.

Max starts to open her mouth and yell after him, but Cassie says, “I think you should leave him alone. Damian does that, too.”

Damian scowls.

“Terry will be here soon,” Steph says. “If he’s not completely occupied with his family, maybe _he_ can go check on Jason.”

“Pretty sure that’s what he’s scared of,” Max says. “You ever meet another clean-cut bisexual boyscout like Terry McGinnis? You ever meet his _mother?_ If I were Jason Todd I’d be pissing my pants right about now. Pardon my language.”

Cassie says, “When can we go to the hospital? We can sit in the waiting room, can’t we? Can we go now?”

Steph hesitates. “I wanted to wait for Dick.”

Cassie shuts her mouth and looks away. 

“Okay,” Steph says. “You’re right. I can drive you right now.”

“No,” says Damian.

“What?” Steph says, nonplussed.

“We should wait for Dick,” Damian says. He looks sullen. “Because he’s probably worrying. I just don’t want him to freak out.”

Cassie punches him in the arm, so fast Steph almost doesn’t see it. “He knows how to ride mom’s bike!” she says. “We can just go now!”

Steph glances between their faces for a verdit.

“ _Fine_ ,” Damian says. He looks halfway to a screaming fit, but it’s a decision, at least.

“So,” says Max, “where are you going? I don’t know what hospital they were heading to.”

“Saint Mary Mercy,” Cassie says impatiently. “I was paying attention.”

“All right. All right. Can you let them know we went?” Steph asks Max. “Tell Dick to follow us ASAP, if he needs telling. And thanks. For keeping a handle on the situation.”

Max feels about ready to explode, but she looks at Cassie before she answers. 

“I’ll let him know where you went,” she says. “I’ll call you when he heads over. You can call me if there’s news. Trade numbers?”

Steph nods, feeling harassed and on the edge of losing her cool, and puts her number into Max’s phone. When Max is done, she takes hers back and says, “We’ll keep you updated.”

Max sighs and treks up to the front door, feeling irritatingly like a guard dog. Like--where’s _Ace?_ Her gut clenches. He wasn’t here, he didn’t come and look for them the whole time the Joker was here, or after. 

Her stomach twists itself into a knot. She hasn’t seen him all day. 

“Ace?” she calls. “Buddy? Here, good boy, here, good dog! Where’s my big, scary, violent dog pal? Ace! Ace!”

She’s starting to circle around the house when Jason bursts out the front door. “Stop!” he says, and she turns back, heart in her throat.

“You scared the hell out of me!” she says.

“Sorry!” Jason says, and she realizes he’s upset. “I mean, you c-can stop, he’s here. He’s in the house. He’s sick. I think the Joker--sorry, I just--” 

“Okay,” Max says. Not prepared to deal with this. She’s got too much of the wrong kind of adrenaline. “Show me. We’ll help him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason says, putting his hand on his forehead, leaning into the doorway while she comes up the steps. “I’m sorry, I know you’re having a shitty day, I’m, I was going to deal with it myself--”

“Between the two of us, we’re _almost_ a functional human being, right?” Max says. “It’s okay. I’m good, okay?” She isn’t, really, but maybe she’s better off than he is.

Jason makes this ugly flat noise and nods and leads her quickly into the house, out of the foyer and into one of the parlors. Ace is on the floor, kicking and snuffling. It sounds like sneezes, over and over. His tail is beating hard against the floor.

“B-Bruce usually keeps an antidote,” Jason says, hugging himself and looking away. “To Joker gas. But I don’t know, I don’t know if he would, now, since. Since he’s not supposed to be here. I guess he’s been around a while, though. Long enough, right? I’m gonna--go check. Downstairs. Can you stay with Ace?”

Max really, really wants to say that she’ll go, but she’s not sure she can physically make herself go down there right now. “Okay,” she says. “There’ll be some. It’s Bruce, right?” Paranoid old man. She hopes. “Hurry.”

“I am,” Jason snaps, and does, before Max can respond. He runs down the stairs into the cave, trips up and has to grab the edge of Bruce’s desk to keep from falling when he sees all the blood on the floor. But there’s got to be something worth finding down here, so he turns away and starts digging through the desk drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing, fuck.

He sees where the line of blood leads, so he knows what he’s going for. Better him than Max, right? She already had to do it. Better let her stay upstairs with the dog. Dog he has to help.

He forces himself over to the door and tries to convince himself even halfway that as soon as he opens it, the Joker isn’t going to wake up and kill him again. He knows it’ll be slow again. He can barely see. He can’t feel his fingers, when he puts his hand on the doorknob and pulls it open.

For a moment, he’s looking down and seeing and coming so close to blacking out that he feels like he’s halfway to the floor already. But that’s a corpse, a corpse, just a dead pile of nothing. Jason steps over him like he’s not penning himself in and he’s not screaming from toe to head inside and starts digging through the drawers.

He finds it, amazingly enough. Not amazing that it’s there, but amazing that he could still find the sense to recognize it. He grabs a handful of doses and steps over the Joker’s body, stumbles on an arm and half retches, slams the door behind him, and runs up the stairs.

“Is he alive?” he begs. “Here. I can--” He drops most of the pens into Max’s arms, uncaps one, and stabs it into Ace’s hip. “Gonna be okay, boy,” he says. “Gonna be fine.” He can’t feel himself crying. Is he _crying_?

“Wow,” Max breathes. “Good job.” She’s painfully grateful to him for going down there, even though he shouldn’t have been there. She can see Ace starting to move less frantically almost at once. “The three of us are going to have such a great nap when today is over,” she tells them.

Jason doesn’t think he’ll ever sleep again.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He starts slamming the side of his fist against the floor with every word, his other hand stroking Ace’s big, soft head. “Fuck. _Fuck.”_. By the time he can tell that he’s sobbing, he doesn’t care that Max can see him. She already saw him flip out once, right? And he can’t, he just can’t find any more space inside him to turn things around and start from a fresh side. “Fuck,” he says. “Why didn’t I stay fucking dead?”

“Easy,” Max says helplessly. “Just breathe, pal.” Even if she wasn’t an inch away from freaking out herself, she doesn’t know how to help. “We’re gonna take care of you,” she says.

“Max,” Jason says, eyes shut and still running tears. “I’m not gonna be good enough. I can’t do this. Not any of this, you know? I’m just not good enough.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now,” Max says. “Just stay alive. That’s good enough for us. The rest is icing.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason says, petting Ace ferociously. “God, he must be, like, fifty. Immortal dog.” He shuts his eyes against seeing too much and feeling too much. Fire and laughing and pain. Crowbar in the yard. The limp heavy pushback of the Joker’s dead arm catching his foot. Damian in the grass. Steph shouting. Not shouting. It’s enough.

He’ doesn’t think he’s going to die. He just wants someone to hit him until he passes out.

“Can I help?” Max asks. She doesn’t think she has what Jason needs, but she’s the one here, so. “A hug? Not a hug?” Hugs don’t cure PTSD.

Jason looks up fast. He didn’t even think of-- “Sorry,” he gulps. “It’s stupid, I just feel like I’m—I’m coming apart, I just need--” Can’t depend on Terry, but Max knows. She’ll help.

“Got it,” Max says, and she wraps her arms around him, tight. “Don’t worry. Not gonna let you get lost, baby Jay.”

“Fuck,” Jason says again. Ace is struggling up under his hands and headbutting him. His hands dig into Ace’s loose skin and he pushes his face against Max’s shoulder. He’ll spend the rest of his life crying. He doesn’t care. He just wants to get all this mad, cold, sweaty, scared out of him so he can be anything like a human being.

Max strokes Jason’s back. It makes her feel a little better, too, a little more in control.

“Dog’s okay,” she says after a minute. Jason feels so breakable in her arms.

“Don’t think I’m done,” Jason says. “Sorry. Just need a minute. Hey, what if I hurt you? Shit, of course the dog’s okay.” He sits up and says, like he’s looking into the sun, “I saw where you stuck him, in the back room. Tripped on him, a little. Damian found the crowbar he killed me with, earlier? I think it’s still gotta be in the yard somewhere. You think Terry’s gonna hate me now that his real family’s back? Do you think Bruce is gonna die?” He blinks. “Are you okay?”

“Whoa,” says Max. She takes a breath. “I’m…going to be okay. And Terry won’t hate you. Why would he hate you?” The rest is too upsetting to address just now.

“I don’t really mean hate,” Jason says. “But his mom might. And his brother is almost my age, is that weird? Anyway, Terry’s gotta get sick of telling some little teenage asshole how great he is and how he believes in him and how if he fucks up one more time he’s--I mean, there’s also that Terry’s kind of fucked up, right? And I’m too fucked up to share.”

“No offense,” Max says, “but I know Terry better than you, and I think you’re gonna be _fine.”_

“Guess we’ll see?” Jason says.

“Damn right,” Max says. She offers Ace a cautious pat, which is about as far as they go. “Just now we have to focus on getting through. You, me, and everyone.”

“Coping’s okay,” Jason says dismally. “It’s every time I start having a good time that things get really horrible.”

“That might change,” Max suggests. She doesn’t know. “You’ve got folks. Whatever that’s worth.”

“Says the girl going back to college on the next bus,” Jason says.

“Yeah, well, don’t think I won’t be back to check.” She lets go. “But I believe in you.”

Jason eases out from under the dog and gets up. “Really don’t,” he says. “Okay? I’ll just feel bad about it when it all gets shitty. I’m gonna get water for the dog, can you stay with him?”

“Okay,” Max says. It’s fair enough. This one’s not really hers to work on, and hey, if Terry tried to get this involved in _her_ love life, she’d kill him. But she is allowed to help herself, and she’s going to do the hell out of that. Tonight, she is going home and finding someone she gets to cry on.


	25. i spin for your (like your favorite records used to do)

Ace has bowls all over the house, but the big one is right by the front door, where he likes to guard. Jason picks that up and stares at it awhile, a little lost after all. He should go fill it up. Clean it out. He’s trying to trick himself into bringing it to the bathroom, to fill it up in the tub. But then he hears something from the cave, and he drops the bowl instead. Because he’s standing here at the clock and there are noises coming from where he knows the Joker is, and when the clock swings open, it’s going to be the Joker, isn’t it?

It always is. It _always_ is.

And then the clock does swing open. 

Matt, coming up first, doesn’t expect someone to be waiting at the top of the stairs. It’s a teenage boy who Matt doesn’t know, looking guilty and messed up, and if Matt is going to have escaped the actual Joker to be murdered by a drug addict in Batman’s own house, he is going to scream. 

Well, he would, he realizes uncomfortably. He would scream.

“Who are _you?”_ he asks.

“Uh,” Jason says. For a second he can’t--right, he’s Jason, this is Terry’s brother, that’s what’s up. “Terry’s friend,” he says, because that’s the least insane possible answer.

“Huh,” Matt says. “You must be new.” He says down the stairs, “Terry, do you have a friend now? A not a girl friend?”

“Shut up!” Terry’s voice comes up the stairwell, and then he emerges, with his mom, and Dick is right behind them. Terry is flushed, happy and shaky and still looks like shit because it’s only a few days since the Joker slammed his face into a solid block of concrete.

“Uh, kind of new. Not really new. Hi,” Jason says. He wants to run away, somewhere where Terry truly won’t find him. Nice, normal, kind, brave Terry and his normal family. What is Jason even _doing_ here? “Dick. Your family went to the hospital because the kids were worried about Tim.” There. He did something right. Message delivered.

Dick’s whole face shifts. “I’ll call Steph,” he says, picking his way between McGinnises. “Thanks, Jay. Thanks.” He nearly rushes away, but he thinks better of it, stops, and gives Jason a bearlike hug. It’s weird, because he feels more like a dad hugging his kid than like anything he and Jason used to be. Not that it matters. He doesn’t want to be the kid he was, and Jason deserves a chance to be the kid he hasn’t been yet. “Steph said Max killed him. I just want to say thanks before I leave, is she here?”

“She’s with Ace,” Jason says. “The Joker made him sick, but I think he’s gonna be okay now. I was getting him water...” He can’t look at Terry.

Dick frowns. “Shall we go check?” he asks. “Give the McGinnises a minute to sit down and grab a bite to eat?”

“Okay,” Jason says desperately, trying to check if it is.

Terry’s mom (Terry’s mom, an actual mother, who lives) frowns at him. “I think maybe you should sit down, too.”

“Um,” Jason says. He doesn’t know how to talk to a mom. What is wrong with him, besides _everything?_

Everyone’s looking at him now. No one wants to move, because everyone is on the edge of falling apart and nobody wants to be alone or leave at the wrong moment. They’re all just nice enough that it’s a problem.

“Come get something to eat,” Terry offers. He doesn’t look any less anxious than Jason.

“I’m going to say hi to Max,” Dick says carefully. “And then I’m going to head out. Jay, you can come with me if you’d rather do that. Or you can stay here. Whatever works.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jason says quickly. The last thing he wants is to get in the way of Terry’s family reunion. “But I’ll come find you guys after you’ve had a second to yourselves, okay, McGinnis?” He waves vaguely at Terry to say, _Hi, still here, still like you._

“Yeah, sure, Jay,” Terry says, frowning a little. “Come back soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, already turning away. He feels like he can’t breathe. He’s really, really glad Dick is here.

“We’ll be back,” Dick says.

Jason heads back toward Max and Ace, trying not to look like death when Dick glances at him. “Terry’s family okay?” he asks. They looked okay. They looked great.

“Might be a little early to tell,” Dick says. “But apparently they all come from the same stock. Tough as nails.” He pulls Jason against his side for just a second before they go into the parlor. 

“Well, hello. That was terrifying,” Max says brightly as they enter. “Next time someone comes in, feel free to let me know they’re real guests and not housebreaking murderers.” She says this, but her voice barely shakes. Ace is sitting up, looking drowsy and cranky and thumping his tail. Max is petting him. They look all right.

“Sorry,” Jason says anyway. His tongue feels fat and distant.

“Max,” Dick says. “You’re my hero today. Can I say that? My absolute hero.”

Max doesn’t take exception. Dick’s a cop, and maybe knows how this feels. “I don’t feel heroic,” she says. “I feel gross. But I’m glad everybody’s okay. Tim and Bruce are a little banged up, but they’ll be fine.”

Dick makes a sound of relief. “Thank you,” he says. “We’ll be back later, if you haven’t run as fast as you can for home, where none of these things happen to you.”

“I’ll say goodbye before I do,” Max says lightly. “You taking Jay to the hospital with you?” She wonders if she can convey with just her eyes how seriously messed up Jason is. Well, his expression is pretty damn transparent right now.

“Yes,” Dick says. “It’s where we need to be. Don’t forget the goodbye, Max. Come on, Jay.” He almost calls him something else, but he doesn’t think pet names will help at this stage.

Jason follows. Good to be told what to do. That way he doesn’t have to think or get anything wrong. He feels so sick. The hospital is probably a bad idea, but he doesn’t want Dick to leave him behind. “How’s Terry?” he asks once they’re outside. At least he can breathe a little out here.

“I think it’s safe to assume that everyone’s going to make it,” Dick says. “But also that everyone could use a nice paper bag to scream into. Including me. Hey, Jay--” He stops them, spins Jason around. “You are going to be all right,” he says. “You hear me? I want to--Jay, is there one thing I can do for you right now that’s going to help?”

“I just want to stop thinking,” Jason says. It comes out pleading.

Dick says firmly, “Come on. We’re going on the bike. You hang onto me, all right? When we get there I’m going to give you a hug so hard your ribs crack.” He puts a hand on Jason’s face. “Hey, little buddy,” he says. “I know. I know. You’re all right. You are.” He sighs and kisses the top of his head. “I swear to god, seeing you alive is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I promise, even if it hurts like you’re dying, you’re safe now. You’re going to get through to the other side.”

“Trust you,” Jason says tearfully to the ground. Too late not to fall apart, but at least Dick is the right person to keep falling apart in front of. “Let’s go see your family.” Because Dick is okay. He survived and Tim survived and Steph survived and they have these awesome kids and they’re all _alive_. So maybe Jason has a shot, unless he’s actually the most worthless out of everyone.

“Yes, please,” Dick says. He’s managed not to sound impatient, but he is desperate to get going. He hands Jason Steph’s helmet, since it’s too small for him. The spare he takes for himself.

Jason puts on the helmet and lets the roar of the engine fill his head until he’s almost not thinking about anything.

~

They go to the kitchen and Matt says, before it gets too hard to think about food, “You didn’t mention your _friend_ before.”

Terry had almost forgotten, with all the worrying, how infuriating Matt can be. “I didn’t know him yet,” he says, making a vague motion towards the fridge.

“Let me,” Mary says. She pats Terry’s arm, starts to take food out, and doesn’t pry. Best mom in the entire world.

“Yeah, I mean on the way here,” Matt says. “What, does he live here? Does Bruce know him? Why’d he look so freaked out?”

“Easy, kid,” Terry says. “It’s kind of a long story. He was--he worked for Bruce. Before me.”

He sees his mom’s shoulders tense.

Matt picks at the end of his hair and mutters, “Man, I need a shower.” He frowns at Terry. “Doing _what?_ There hasn’t been a Batman in like a million years. Anyway, Mr. Wayne was all alone when you showed up, you said.”

“He was—dead. Someone brought him back,” Terry says tightly. “From decades ago. He was Batman’s sidekick and he wasn’t as lucky as we were with the Joker. Okay?” He tries not to talk to his family too much about the people who used to work for Bruce, but he knows his mother has at least some idea.

“Oh,” Matt says quietly. “Did those people make the Joker come back, too?” He looks up at mom and gets up quickly. “I can help with food or whatever.”

“Water all around would be good,” she says, like she’s ordering at a restaurant. She clears her throat. “This can wait.”

“It’s okay,” Terry says, although it isn’t, really. They have a right to know everything, even if it’s going to upset him, and them, to talk about it. “We think they came from the same place, yeah. I--are you guys really okay?” He feels like he’s asked a hundred times.

“Nope,” Matt says. “I mean, duh. But I’ll be okay.” He looks over at Mom. She’s been so tough he doesn’t know what to think, but he’s still worried. It makes him feel uncomfortable and anxious to think that she’s not as okay as she looks. Moms shouldn’t be people who can get hurt. Especially not after dad.

“We just need a little food and sleep,” Mary says. She smiles at both of them.

Terry gives up on trying to help with the food and sits down hard. “Oof. Okay. Okay.” He rubs his face. “Just can’t believe everyone’s--” Jason looked awful, but Dick will take care of him.

“Is Max really here?” Matt asks.

“What am I doing?” Terry says, shooting upright again. “I need to see her.” But he’s not letting his family out of his sight. “Max?” he shouts into the hall.

“You need to see her?” Matt prompts. “We’re not going to disappear if you leave the room.” Is that even true, though?

Terry still hesitates. 

“Go,” Mary says. “We’re perfectly safe, Ter.”

“I guess,” Terry says. “I mean, I know.” He gives her a quick hug and goes searching. It’s not that hard to find her: she and Ace are sitting in the front hall. When Max sees Terry she jumps up and runs at him.

“ _God._ I am never doing that again.”

Terry clings to her. “You never have to. You’re such a boss, Max. I can’t believe everyone’s okay. How’s Jay? How’s Bruce? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know how Bruce is,” Max says. “Jay’s off his rocker. That kid needs some serious attention. The new boyfriend’s perfect family is not the only thing freaking him out.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Terry says. “Thanks.” He doesn’t want to leave anyone hanging. “I still can’t believe--you just took the Joker out? Just like that?

“No one else was!” Max says. “Anyway, I didn’t _take him out._ I _killed_ somebody.” She hunches against the wall. “Fucking fuck, shit fucking dammit. I fucking--damn.”

“Sorry,” Terry says. “I really am. I don’t know how it feels.” Max shouldn’t even be here. She’s supposed to be off living a normal life. “Do you want anything? Space? Lunch?”

“Not space,” Max says, shuddering. “Lunch sounds great.”

“Good,” Terry says. “I kind of like everyone in one place.” 

When they go back to the kitchen, his mom is still pulling things out of the fridge.

“Max!” she says, looking up.

“Hi, Miz Em,” Max says. 

It’s amazing that hugging her still feels so _safe_ after what’s been happening. Safe and normal and good, with just a little bit of, _oh, god, this woman could have been murdered,_ floating underneath.

Mary pats her and breathes a big sigh of relief. “There. All my kids in one place. Now, what should we eat?”

“You’re making food, are you kidding?” Max says. “No. No. This is a takeout situation.”

Mary laughs. “You think so?”

“I know so. Pizza or Chinese?” Max says. She is the kind of person who saves numbers and can put in an order without taking requests and everyone still ends up happy. She’s never been as pleased with that skill as she is at this second.

“Pizza,” Terry says. “Get enough for Jay, too. He said he was coming back.”

“Gotcha,” Max says.

~

Things get fuzzy for a while, but when Tim first wakes up and feels all there, Bruce is sitting next to him. 

“No visitors yet,” Bruce explains. “I snuck.” That, as far as he’s concerned, is the only reason to have let them check him in to begin with.

“Oh,” Tim says distantly. He must be on some pretty strong painkillers, because his leg only throbs a little. “Anything horrible happen while I was out?” There’s something weirdly soothing about waking up to Bruce.

Bruce cracks a smile. “Not that I know of. Dr. Thompkins, Jr. stopped by to let me know you have an entourage.”

“Oh, good,” Tim says. “Are the kids--is everyone--?”

“All well. I’m mostly worried about the civilians,” Bruce says dryly. What scares him are Tim and Jason, but he will not say so.

“Max and the McGinnises? I know. Max was good. She was so good. She shouldn’t even have been here--” _Don’t panic, you’re not helping,_ he tells himself.

“Tim,” Bruce says gently. “I’m worried because I don’t know what they’ll do, not because I think they’re broken.”

Tim takes a shaky breath.

“What about you?” Tim asks.

“Me?” Bruce echoes. It hadn’t occurred to him that he is relevant. He’s too much at fault, and too close to dying anyway.

“How are you?” Tim asks, fond and impatient. “I’m not too pissed off to care.”

Bruce shakes his head.

“The Joker’s gone,” Tim says insistently. “We’re not.”

“The Joker isn’t the problem,” Bruce says.

“So what is?” Tim asks. “You got us through. Don’t think I’m feeling ungrateful.” 

“You shouldn’t be grateful,” Bruce says.

“Shut up,” Tim says. “Let me decide if I’m grateful or not. Let everyone decide what they actually need.”

Bruce nods, eventually.

“I can try to help Jason,” Tim says. “We might be too different, but I’ll try. I’ll --I need to talk to my family, but I want--” Too medicated, can’t think right.

“What?” Bruce says, nearly laughing. “To be involved?”

“Yes,” Tim says. It feels like a betrayal of the last several decades of his life, but he also remembers what _those_ have felt like.

“You’ll have to see if there’s anyone else to be involved with,” Bruce points out. “Terry’s a soldier, but I won’t be surprised if he--leaves.”

“There’s always someone,” Tim says. Not with horror. “If not, I can still--this is probably the wrong time for me to be making decisions. What did they give me? I don’t want morphine.”

“I’ll make sure,” Bruce says. He reaches for the call button. Tim shudders and shuts his eyes. It’s too easy, letting Bruce take care of everything. Steph and Dick would be so disappointed in him. 

When Bruce settles back, he says, “I’m truly sorry, Tim. For everything. I may have made more mistakes than anything else.”

Tim takes a breath. Sorry. Bruce keeps saying that.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” he says, “but you gave me a purpose. And then it went wrong and we both handled it badly, but--I was never happier than when I was Robin. You did that for me.”

“Hm,” Bruce says. “All right. Well, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid,” Tim says. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t be doing much of anything for awhile.”

“Perhaps I can come by and visit while you convalesce,” Bruce says, and means it as a joke, but then is struck silent by how terrible it is for that to be a joke.

Then Tim just says, “You’d better.”

Bruce, startled, says, “I will!”

Then a nurse arrives and takes a look at Bruce and says, “Where is your heart monitor?!” and wheels him away. Someone else comes in to look after Tim.

After Tim talks to a nurse about his painkillers (not morphine--Dr. Thompkins let them know, bless her), he only has to wait another ten minutes before they let his family see him. Steph, Cass, and Damian troop in, looking about as worried as Tim expected.

“Dad!” Cassie says. Then she bites her lip and comes up to the edge of the bed, eyes big. “You okay?”

Tim nods. “Yeah, Cass. Just a little dizzy from the medicine.”

Damian budges in next to her, solid and frowning. 

“He’s mad,” Steph explains. “Dick and Jason are here. But they wouldn’t let Dick in to see you.”

Damian crosses his arms and stares at them, more and more like a rock. “You should of let me tell them why he should come in,” he says.

“Hah!” says Steph. “I would have said a whole lot more if it would have helped, kid.”

“You wanted Dick to come in?” Tim asks, surprised.

“Not me!” Damian barks.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” Tim says. He can see Damian working up to a rage. “Come sit with me, all right?”

Damian hops up on the bed, visibly starts and discards a few arguments in his head, and says, “Does your leg hurt a lot? Or did they pump you full of opiates and you think we’re elephants or something?”

“You’re too small to be an elephant,” Tim says, putting an arm around him. “No, I’m all here. Just a little woozy.” He smiles at Steph in what might be a reassuring way. “Make sure Dick knows I _want_ to see him, okay?”

“I told him you probably did,” Cassie says. She leans against the bed beside Damian, her head on Tim’s shoulder.

“He knows you want to see him,” Steph says shortly, glad she can be short without Tim thinking it’s directed at _him._ “I think they’ll let him and Jason come in soon, once you’ve been awake a little longer.” She glances at the kids, and then back at Tim, and decides to leave her immediate assessment of Jason out of the conversation. “Maybe they’ll let Bruce see them in the meantime. Unless Bruce is playing _addled old man_ so the doctors and the cops all stop trying to get him to tell them who shot you.”

“You should tell them that D-Dick is a cop,” Damian says. His expression doesn’t betray the stammer. He explains, “Because sometimes it’s a free pass.”

Tim sometimes wishes Damian weren’t so sharp. “Don’t worry, I think between Dick and Barbara, we won’t have to think too hard about a story. And I’m sure they’ll let Dick in soon.” He doesn’t want to encourage Damian to think lying is okay, but it’s probably too late. Besides, sometimes it _is_ okay.

“Are you sick again?” Cassie asks quietly. “Like before?”

Tim winces. “No,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did Max really--do that thing?” Damian asks. He almost gets specific, but you never know when there are cameras. “I thought she was _normal.”_

“She saved my life,” Tim says quietly. She’d make a great sidekick. Tim doubts she’ll want to stick around.

“So not that normal,” Steph says, maybe unfairly. “Buddy, you look better than I’d expect for someone who’s had the day you’ve had. Can I pick ‘em or what?”

“I love you,” Tim says in a grateful rush. “I love you all so much. I’m okay. I really am. I feel better than I have in a while.” He doesn’t know how to tell them that he wants to help Bruce.

Damian leans on him a little, mindful of his leg.

“Where are we going to live?” he says. “Mom only said _somewhere.”_

“I don’t know,” Tim says. “I think your mom and Dick and I all need to talk about it. And you two, of course.”

“Dick has an apartment,” Steph says. “It would be tight, but we could all fit there.” She strokes Cassie’s hair. “Don’t worry. I know we can’t get back the personal stuff, but we’ll have money for new things. It’s all insured.”

Cassie nods. She’s okay with that. You lose things, and that’s just how it goes. “I don’t mind,” she says.

“Stay with--” Tim frowns. “Steph. He doesn’t still have a place. Does he?”

Steph winces. “Yes,” she says. “He likes having a safehouse, I think.” That’s not what she means, but it hurts to say anything else, especially to Tim, especially while they’re all in here and Dick’s out there because the whole stupid world thinks he doesn’t count.

Tim swears. “I want to see him,” he says. “I--I need to see him. I need him. Now.” He can feel himself starting to panic, and that’s not what he wanted, at all.

Steph stands up fast and walks out of the room.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asks. He sits up straight, afraid he shouldn’t be so close.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “I’m sorry, thought I had it together, but--really hate being on any drugs, and I want--I need to make this okay.” His teeth are chattering. He’s just overtired, but he can’t get overtired without getting _like this._ “I’m okay,” he forces himself to say slowly. He isn’t going to lose control.

“Daddy,” Damian says. His voice gets high at the end of the word. “I’m not going to make Dick leave, okay? I promise. I don’t want him to go away.”

“Hey,” Tim says. It’s amazing how that can happen. One second he can see the pieces he’s about to burst into, and the next there’s Damian to think about, and Tim’s pieces go back together just in time for him to help. “Come here,” he says. He scoops Damian into his arms and hugs him hard. “I love you. I wouldn’t want any other son. Okay? You don’t have to get along with Dick for me to love you.”

“But I’m going to,” Damian says. “I don’t want him to leave.” 

Cassie is watching them both over Damian’s head. 

“My good kids,” Tim says softly.

“Make them let Dick in,” Damian says. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, except he’s exhausted and mad at himself and Dick was so nice about the damned bloody crowbar. He wants to go home. Dick is part of home. Dick makes Damian’s dad less afraid, and Damian is so, so angry and tired from seeing his dad afraid, _all the time._

“Damian, stop!” Cass says loudly, and Damian realizes that he’s kicking the side of the bed with a hard, solid rhythm. When his heel connects, dad winces, pale as milk. Damian halts his foot in mid-swing, shaking.

“I’ll try,” Tim says helplessly. “Mom’s trying.” Damian’s stoic, but when he explodes, he really explodes. Like Bruce. It’s hard to say whether that’s an inborn trait, or just one thing that can happen when you’re little and terrible things happen to you.

“It’s okay, Damian,” Cassie says. “I’ll make them.”

Damian is quiet, quiet, quiet, for seconds, while they both watch it bubble up inside him, and then, “ _I hate this!”_ Damian screams. He can’t punch the bed, so he punches his fists into each other instead, and then collapses into tears.

“Shh,” Tim says, a little desperately. “It’s okay, hon, it’s okay.”

Cassie is quivering, and Tim recognizes her fighting stance. This day has been too long. “Damian, stop it, it’s _okay_ ,” she says shrilly. “You’re too big--I wish mom would come back.”

The door swings open, and a nurse starts through, looking ready to say something--but Steph and Dick are right behind her, and Steph pushes past and grabs Damian up into her arms and hugs him tight until his hands hang down and they’re not fists anymore.

“That really might be enough visiting for now,” the nurse says.

“In a minute,” Dick says. He’s a little pale. He glances at Tim. “Are you--?”

“Fine now,” Tim says. “Sorry to scare you. I think Damian...”

“What’s wrong?” Dick says, frowning. “You okay, kid?” He doesn’t want to make it worse, but if Tim wants him to talk to Damian, he will.

Damian peeks above Steph’s shoulder. “Nothing,” he says, unconvincingly, and pulls back. “It’s good they let you in. With us.” He glares at Dick’s knees.

“Oh,” Dick says. He feels like he’s been punched. “Really?” Now he sounds like an idiot. Get it together. “That’s really nice. Thanks. I’m here now. We all get to be together.” He’s painfully aware that the nurse is still there, but he really doesn’t care.

Damian looks away sideways. “Okay. Dad wanted to see you.”

Dick takes the hint and doesn’t make a big deal over Damian. “Well, I’m here. Whatever you need, Timmy.”

“Just needed you in here,” Tim says sheepishly. “Have you seen Bruce in the last twenty minutes? I’m worried I--I just wish I hadn’t fought with him. He came in earlier, but I didn’t have a chance--”

Dick shakes his head. “They haven’t let us see either of you. I had to leave Jay in the waiting room.” He smiles. “I bet he’ll find a way in, now I’m not there. You fought with Bruce?” He can’t say it’s surprising for anyone to fight with Bruce.

“Five minutes,” says the nurse sternly, and retreats. Steph shuts the door firmly behind her.

“Yeah, then he walked out of the room right into the Joker,” Tim says unhappily. “I don’t know, the doctor were checking his heart...” He knows, logically, that if Bruce is in danger, it’s the Joker’s fault. But he looked bad before the Joker showed up.

“He’s old,” Steph says. “He has a history of heart attacks. Of course they’re checking his heart.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “Okay, I know. I was just so afraid he’d die thinking I hated him. I don’t, anymore.”

Dick glances at the kids and says, “What, did he apologize? Then we’ll know he’s in trouble!”

“He did,” Tim says quietly. “More than once.”

Dick’s eyebrows fly up. “Really? Miracles on Earth. Don’t panic, though, Timmy. All right? Terry has done a lot of work in a few years that we never quite got right.”

“You mean maybe he didn’t apologize because he’s about to die?” Tim asks, smiling now. “Maybe he’s just _matured_ , at age eighty-something? I’ll take it.”

“Good choice,” Dick says.

“Is Jay okay by himself?” Damian asks. “He didn’t feel good earlier.”

“Someone should look for him,” Tim says. “ I should rest, anyway.”

“Mom and Dick should stay with you,” Damian says. “Me and Cass can find Jay.”

Cassie nods. Jason made friends with Damian. Nobody does that, which is a good enough reason to look out for him. 

“Come on,” Damian says.

As they walk back up the hall, Damian thinks about his promise and decides Cass doesn’t count. “Did you see the thing in the car?” he asks.

Cassie stiffens. “Oh no,” she says. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Jay saw it,” Damian whispers. “It was for him.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Cassie says again. She was supposed to hide it from the boys and they found it anyway. Mom’s going to be disappointed.

“Yeah,” Damian says.

Cassie sets her jaw. “I’ll fix it.” They emerge into the waiting room.

Jason isn’t where they left him, so they spin around to turn back, but an orderly gets in their way. “Sorry, kids,” she says. “You can’t go through there.”

Cassie makes a noise of frustration. “But our dad,” she says.

Damian, who is almost always up for a challenge, takes her cue and bursts into loud tears. “I just wanted to use the buh-bathroom!” he wails. “I wasn’t leaving for real!”

“Now,” starts the orderly.

“He’s gonna die,” Damian cries. “I want my _daddy!_ ” People are looking.

“He got _shot_ ,” Cassie says miserably. “Please?” This is easy, when she feels ready to cry anyway.

“Who’s your dad?” the orderly says tiredly.

“T-timothy Drake,” Damian snuffles.

“Okay,” says the orderly. “Wait here.” She goes away, presumably to find someone to identify them.

“Good?” Cassie says.

“Let’s go,” Damian says.

Cassie nods and dashes for it. Easy. Like old times.

Both of them are pretty small, and they have an excuse, and everyone else is busy. They begin searching for reception desks. Damian points to the first one he sees and marches up.

“Excuse me, I want to see Mr. Bruce Wayne,” he says.

“Let me see,” says the nurse. “He’s here but not seeing visitors at the moment.”

“We’ll come back,” says Damian, “thank you,” and circles around her desk so she won’t see them sneak in.


	26. at this husk around my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: emetophobia but nothing explicit

It takes Jason about ten seconds after Dick leaves with Steph to decide he can’t stay in the waiting room alone. He didn’t exactly expect to be allowed into Tim’s room, but he can’t stay here.

Finding Bruce is easy. Getting in is easy. He doesn’t ask, because he’s not stupid, but he smiles winningly, acts like someone who’s supposed to be there, and slips past reception when the receptionist is answering a call. Easy. He would have had a great career as a petty criminal if he’d stuck with it.

After putting his head through a few doors, he finds Bruce. Private room, of course.

“Hey,” he says quietly, in case Bruce is as asleep as he looks.

Bruce opens his eyes. “Jay,” he says, surprised. “I didn’t see you out there.”

“I turned up,” Jason says. He shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Everyone else was visiting Tim, so I figured. You feel okay?” Bruce is older now, he reminds himself, even though it should be easy to remember.

“Hmm,” says Bruce. He finds the bed controls with his hand and props himself a little higher, frowning more deeply as the bed adjusts. “These things are terrible. I never miss them. They make me feel like an invalid.” He eyes Jason. “Which I’m not.” He doesn’t blink or look away as he adds, “They treat everyone like they’re dying here even if the only thing wrong with them is a couple of bruised ribs.”

“Gotcha,” Jason says, relieved. “Just had to check, you know? I just keep thinking we got off easy, but...” But Steph had to get Dick because Tim was losing it. But Terry and his family are probably traumatized. But Jason can’t stop crying every five minutes. They didn’t get off _that_ easy.

Bruce sighs through his nose. “Are they home? Any injuries?”

“None that I saw,” Jason says. “Nothing serious. I only talked to them for a second. The kid was feeling good enough to grill me about who I was, so I guess he’s okay.” He isn’t trying to sound bitter. He’s just really tired. He wonders what Bruce will say when he tells him he can’t stand the idea of putting on a costume again.

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “And what did you say, when he grilled you?” He coughs.

Jason ignores the question. “The kids are okay, I think,” he says. “Damian and Cassie. They’re scared. But I think they’re tougher than some people. Me, for example. Um—” He stumbles. “Ace was—Ace was sick, but I think he’s okay now.” Bruce should probably know about that.

Bruce flinches. “Toxin,” he says. “He didn’t bark.” Bitterly, “I wonder why he didn’t kill him.”

Jason nods. “I thought--I--” All of his fear and guilt and anger keeps coming to a head when he thinks about Ace and about the Joker’s body in the basement. He feels like there isn’t anything he can do physically to get it out, or even to express it. He’s going to scream, he just keeps being right on the edge of it, but that won’t be enough. “Yeah. Found the antidote,” he manages.

Bruce says, “Oh.” 

He reaches over and grabs Jason’s wrist, and drags him to him--Jason thinks it’ll just be _closer,_ he seems too weak for more than that, but strength comes from somewhere, like it always does with Bruce, and Jason is pulled right down into a fierce hold.

“I’ll get rid of it,” Bruce growls. “There won’t be anything left. We found where he came from. We’ll make it so he can never come back.”

Jason buries his face in Bruce’s shoulder. “I believe you,” he says. He thinks he’s crying again. “What about me? I am—did I—Do I get to stay? But I don’t know what I’d even be _good_ for.” He doesn’t want to be pathetic, but it’s Bruce. He can say this to Bruce.

Bruce’s hand tightens in Jason’s hair. 

“What exactly do you have to be good for?” he asks.

“I, I don’t think I can be out there,” Jason says breathlessly. “I don’t think I can fight for you. Or for Terry. I’m sorry.”

Bruce practically laughs, although it comes out as something a little uglier.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” he says. “Don’t you remember? I _fired_ Dick and Tim when they got hurt.” He brushes his thumb against Jason’s neck. “I think I know a little better now,” he adds dryly, “but you’re still the first person who’s ever had any interest in doing what I’d want them too.”

“Who would have thought, right?” Jason says. He doesn’t sound like himself. “God. I thought you’d be mad. I. I. Do you think Terry will be mad?”

“No,” Bruce says. “That’s not what Terry is like.”

“Oh,” Jason says. “Do you think I’ll go insane?” He leans into Bruce’s hand, feeling weak and sick and _so relieved_.

Bruce’s hand trembles slightly, but he says, “You’re not insane. You’re hurt.” He can’t promise that will go away--he’s never made it go away for anybody--but it means everything isn’t destroyed. 

Jason shuts his eyes. “I’m just gonna stay here, okay? For a little bit? Until they make me go?”

Bruce is silent for a long moment.

“You _can_ stay with me, you know,” he says. “At the manor. It doesn’t--you don’t have to. I expect Terry will go back to stay with his family. But--until you want something else, or something more, you can stay with me. No strings attached.” Of any kind, none of which he feels he can say at the moment.

“Wow,” Jason says. “Terry really whipped you into shape.” He smiles to show he’s not being mean. “That’d be good. I don’t really have anywhere else to go, and I don’t think Terry’s gonna want me in his space all the time. Be nice to have somewhere to go and get away from people. Besides. Probably better if you’re not living alone.”

Bruce carefully pushes Jason back into his seat. “I see I’m not people, but I am the elderly,” he says grimly. “I had been hoping to die younger and avoid this kind of impudent attitude.”

“I just know how to piss you off fast to get the alone time I deserve,” Jason says smugly. This feels normal. He feels normal. Almost. “Hey. You said you found out where the Joker came from. Does that mean...?”

“A Luthorcorp lab outside Gotham,” Bruce says. “It’s in New Jersey. We were supposed to meet at three. All things considered, I think I’ll give the president a call instead.”

“Yeah, nobody’s explained to me how the _how_ that sleazy asshole got to be president,” Jason says. “But you tell him I’m pissed. He probably remembers me.”

“He’ll probably pretend he doesn’t,” Bruce mutters. “But I’ll let him know.”

Before Jason can answer, Cass and Damian burst in. Both of them look like they’ve been crying, but now they look triumphant.

“Found you,” Cassie says.

“Who were you looking for?” Bruce asks, bemused.

“Jason,” Damian says. 

“He wasn’t in the waiting room,” Cassie says.

“You came to get me?” Jason asks. “Uh, why?”

Damian scowls. “There’s no reason,” he says. 

“A lot of effort for _no reason,”_ Bruce points out.

“He was worried about you,” Cassie tells Jason. “Me too. I didn’t know you saw that thing.”

Jason tucks his feet up under him. “Oh. It’s okay. I’m all right. You didn’t have to--thanks.”

“What thing?” Bruce says dangerously.

“ _The_ thing,” Damian says, scowling. “There was blood still. They must’ve stole it from the police.”

“The crowbar he killed me with,” Jason tells him numbly. “With--with a fucking _bow_ on it.”

There’s bile in Bruce’s throat. He tightens one hand into a fist. “He always knew where to aim.”

“But Damian took care of it,” Cassie says.

Bruce looks from face to face. “We’ll take care of it all,” he says, and twitches his mouth into a smile. “Nobody panic.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Cassie says. “You’re okay. Even if you hate Damian.”

Bruce manages to freeze his expression rather than show it. “I do not hate Damian,” he says. “Not at all.”

“Oh,” Cassie says, surprised. “Dick?”

Bruce frowns. “Certainly not.”

Cassie nods. “Mom hates ex-boyfriends. Wasn’t sure.”

Bruce starts at that. “Ex--? What exactly have your parents been saying to you?”

“Nothing,” Cassie says, perfectly deadpan.

Jason, who has been staring at her, bursts out laughing. “They’ve got you pegged.”

“Yes, well,” Bruce frowns.

Cassie blinks at him. “Sorry?” she hazards.

“You are the best,” Jason says. “Can I adopt you, too? _Sorry,_ Bruce, but it’s funny!”

Bruce looks even more uncomfortable. “You’ll have to wait until the law alters its attitude dramatically,” he says. “And I believe there’s already a line.”

“I’m just saying I _like_ them,” Jason says. “Jesus, Bruce. Anyway, fuck the law. We’re all a family no matter what they say.”

“You’re mushy,” Damian says, looking at Jason like a squashed and interesting bug. “I didn’t know _that_.”

“Only Bruce knows that,” says Jason. “And Dick. And now you guys.”

“Bet Terry knows,” Damian says.

“Brat,” Jason says. “God, do you think his brother’s gonna kill me?”

“That’s stupid,” Damian says. “He’s not strong enough to kill you. Why would he kill you?”

“‘Cause I’m a stupid teenage punk who pranced in out of nowhere and started dating his brother in the middle of a hostage situation,” Jason says. “Duh.”

“Ah,” Cassie says.

“Boys are gross,” says Damian.

Bruce sighs.

Damian adds, “Yuck.”

“Agreed,” Cassie says.

“Well,” Jason says stubbornly, because he’s not too mature to argue with a couple of preteens, “I like them. I like Terry.”

“Terry’s okay,” Damian says, “but boys are gross.”

“Someone should go back to the manor,” Bruce says. He’s worried, but also tired. He doesn’t want to show how tired he is. “Maybe if we bribe a nurse, they’ll let me out.”

“No, stay put. I’ll go,” Jason says. “I said I would.” He’s a lot less full of dread now.

“Can you get home without Dick?”

“Maybe he can borrow mom’s bike, if he’s careful,” Damian says.

Jason had planned on that, but permission is nice. “I’ll do that. See you all tomorrow, then, probably.”

“You can call if you have to,” Damian says.

“Thanks, boss,” Jason says, but the sarcasm gets lost somewhere. He says goodbye, and he goes outside planning to figure out if can hotwire a futurebike—but the keys are waiting there in his helmet. It’s hard to think of people who are better than Dick Grayson.

~

By the time Jason reaches the manor, the wind on his face has made him feel human enough to go right in. The house smells like pizza. “Anyone here?” he calls.

After a few seconds, Terry sticks his head around the corner. “Hey!” he says. “You’re back! We got enough pizza for you. Don’t worry, Max knows everyone’s favorite.”

“Cool,” Jason says nervously. Seeing Terry face-to-face has reminded him how _normal_ Terry and his family are. How’s Jason even supposed to act? “Everyone seems okay at the hospital,” he says.

“Good,” Terry says. He smiles, tired and still worried, but a thousand pounds of fear and grief lighter. “Come eat.”

Jason follows at a safe distance, trying to make a good impression. “Hi again,” he says, smiling at everyone. “Hey, pepperoni. Awesome.”

Terry’s mom smiles at him. Jason tries not to find that terrifying.

“We’re not talking about anything bad right now,” Terry’s brother says. “That’s the rule for dinner.” He looks at Jason like maybe Jason is the actual source of bad things. Jason wonders if maybe before they made this rule, Terry told them where he came from.

“Love it,” Jason says with a tentative smile. “Hey, did you know your brother still watches cartoons?”

Matt squints at him, like he’s deciding exactly what to make of the new kid. “I know that,” he says. “I tell ‘im what to watch.”

“You’ve got good taste,” Jason says. He can feel Terry’s mom looking at him. _Just don’t do anything freakish, Jay._

“How long have you been alive, anyway?” Matt asks. “Terry said you came back to life. Did you come back with _him_?”

“No,” Jason says. “I--It’s only been--Well, I can only _remember_ a few days.” Can that be right? Just a handful of days, and he’s already this hung up on Terry? That’s how he works, though, isn’t it? He thinks he can play it cool, but in reality he’s all over people like a big weirdo.

“ _Huh,”_ Matt says.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Don’t really know what that’s about. Anyway, Bruce said I could crash here. So I guess I’m sticking around now.” He tries to throw it in casually. He’s halfway through his first slice of pizza. Pizza has never been so difficult to swallow, but it is helping.

“I wonder if you really came back later or if you were doing other stuff you don’t remember,” Matt says. “Maybe you were doing stuff with _him.”_

Jason’s gut goes ice-cold in the half a second it takes to understand.

“Hey!” Terry says. “Brat! Don’t be a jerk.” His voice is light, but his face is bloodless. Jason’s ears are ringing. He just wants to crawl into his lap and cling to him. Probably a really inappropriate move. 

“Uh,” he says. “I don’t think I was. I think I’d remember doing that.” He swallows, leans towards Terry a little, almost unconsciously. “Bruce is going to talk to the president about it or something.”

“Oh, the _president,”_ Matt says, rolling his eyes. He takes a bite of pizza. “What,” he says, mouth full, “like the president of the United States?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “They went to high school together. Is there soda? I think there’s still soda from what I had Bruce get. And where’s my dog?”

“Max is with him,” Terry’s mom says. “He’s doing fine.” She raises her eyebrows at Terry. _My dog?_

“Could we sit down?” Terry asks. “I liked it when we were sitting down.”

“I’ve been sitting way too much,” Matt says. “But, you know, you do whatever.” There’s this waiting look in his eyes, and he won’t quite take them off Jason.

“I can go,” Jason says suddenly, straight to Matt. He looks at Terry’s mom. “I’m in the way. I can go.” It comes out a little aggressive, because he’s never been able to figure out another way to sound.

Matt just shrugs and looks at Terry. Terry looks--hurt, actually, and then he looks at his mother.

“You’re not in the way,” she says sharply. “No one’s in the way. We’re all going to sit down. Everyone’s going to sit down, and Max is going to come back, and we’re all going to continue having a nice meal.” She walks over to Jason and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Please stay. I’m going to get your soda.”

Moms. Jason is a sucker when it comes to moms, so now he’ll probably start crying again.

Matt gives it a second, and when his mother has left the room, he sits down.

“Everyone’s allowed to feel bad today,” Terry says. “Just putting that out there.” Jason nods, but Matt doesn’t, and Jason feels worse than before Terry spoke. Which doesn’t stop him from trying again, of course. He says, “Hey, Jay, is there a pool in the house? There’s gotta be, right? I never looked.”

“Totally a pool,” Jason says. He makes himself sit up, talk normally. “It’s huge. I don’t think Bruce would care if we used it.”

“Probably not full,” Terry says. “That could be a--hey. Who called Barbara?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Jason says. “Dick didn’t when he was with me at the hospital, and if Dick didn’t, I’m pretty sure no one did.”

“Oh, damn,” Terry says. He jumps up and runs out of the room.

Which leaves Jason, at least temporarily, alone with Matt. _Just don’t start a fight_ , he tells himself, but he doesn’t really feel like he will. “So, cartoons,” he says weakly.

“I’ve probably never seen anything you like,” Matt says. “When did you die?” 

Matt doesn’t have a handle on things. His mom is going to come back in a second and stop him. She’s going to be mad that he’s being mean, but he can’t stop even though a lot of him wants to be able to. 

He doesn’t know if there’s anything the matter with Jason or not, but Jason’s new, and he came from the same place as the Joker. And, Matt sees certainly, this bright point of self-knowledge burning in his brain, Matt just spent nearly two months trapped in a room without any windows waiting to be murdered like his brother while a bunch of creeps in face paint laughed at him. And his mom was there, too, and that didn’t make it better at all.

He’d thought it would run out, being afraid. But it doesn’t run out. You just get tireder and tireder, and the fear makes you feel different kinds of sick the longer it’s there. Eventually you’re just a thin haze of constantly being afraid and there’s hardly anything left inside you. He thinks he might still be completely terrified.

“Uh,” Jason says. “Okay, look. I can’t do this.” It makes a fissure in Matt’s internal surface, Jason deciding that he needed to have _feelings_ right now. He doesn’t even know this guy, he doesn’t need anyone’s _feelings._

“I can’t pretend like everything’s normal,” Jason says, even though Matt doesn’t care. “Do you want--Can we just--truce? I know you don’t want me here. Hell, I don’t want me here. But I think Terry might, so. You know. Trying.”

“Yeah, you care a lot about Terry,” Matt says, head buzzing so much he can barely see. “What, you’re like, old friends suddenly? Everything about you people is fucked up.”

Jason gets to his feet, hands in fists. He can’t hit a kid (another kid) (a kid with no defenses) but he wants to so badly. “Yeah, because we’re all like _Bruce_. We’re not! Terry’s trying to help people! And I--Well, it’s not like I had any other choice! You’re just _jealous_.”

Matt just sits there and looks at him. “Of what?”

Jason falters. “I guess--Well, because you had to be in that fucked-up situation and you think I was just running around out here having fun with your brother the whole time. Trust me, it wasn’t that much fun. And it’s not like he forgot about you.”

“I know he didn’t forget about us,” Matt says. “Don’t be stupid. Terry would never forget about us.” He still just sits there with his hands on the edges of the chair. “But we wouldn’t be in _that fucked-up situation_ if it weren’t for your precious boss.”

Jason _knows_ it’s true, _knows_ Bruce is the last person he should be defending, but he’s not Dick and he’s not Tim and he’s _not angry anymore._ “You don’t know shit about him,” he says. He should stop this conversation before he gets really stupid and ruins everything.

Matt says, “I don’t want to. I don’t care about any of you. I want to go home. I want you to leave us alone.” He blinks once, hard, like he’s biting back anger with his eyes.

“Me too,” Jason says, and for a second anyway he can detach enough from his own howling mess to understand what’s happening to this kid he doesn’t know. It feels awful. Jason looks awful through it. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I really am. This _sucks_.”

Matt is stuck, not exactly frozen, just he’s a lump of dough that can’t remember how to be anything but a lump. He’s so full of terrible things that he’s empty inside. This just happened. They just got free, from something he can’t even think about. How can he be anything? Why is his mom _catering?_ He wants to go somewhere that doesn’t have Terry in it, so he doesn’t feel ashamed anymore. He doesn’t want Terry to look at him. He doesn’t want this rude stranger. He doesn’t want to be alone.

“I’m going to see _your dog,”_ he says. “Don’t follow me.” He stands up, sees his mom at the door with a plastic bottle in her hand (what did she hear?), but he still goes out the door and back towards the parlor. 

“Sorry!” Jason says to Mrs. McGinnis as Matt vanishes. “I’m so sorry. I really don’t know what the hell I was trying to do.” He sits down hard, face in his hands.

Mary sets the soda down on the coffee table and sit next to Jason on the couch. There’s a slight movement under the seat under him, when she sits, but barely. It’s like she’s a bird, or moving so slowly that she might as well be swapping out sandbags for precious jewels in a booby-trapped temple. “We’re not at our best.”

“Don’t count me in,” Jason says. “This is nothing new for me. You don’t know.” Don’t know that he’s the kind of person who pushes people out windows and breaks people’s legs and attacks little kids and _sleeps with her son while she’s kidnapped, oh god._

“No,” she says. “I don’t know you.” She’s silent then and Jason thinks she might be done, but she goes on, “Terry likes you. And I understand you went through something…similar. I want to know my fellow survivors, not make enemies.”

“‘Kay,” Jason says, near tears. “Yeah, I can try. To not fuck things up. I mean, mess things up. I’m sorry.” He hunches up. He just wants Terry to come back and hug him.

Mary hands him the bottle of soda. “Here,” she says. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll feel more like people.”

“Okay,” Jason says.

Terry comes in. He looks around. Matt is gone, and Jason looks miserable. The little hopeful expression he’s giving Terry’s mom when Terry arrives isn’t enough to cover up everything else. Terry leans against the doorway. “I think I might be running out of steam,” he says. “Yikes.”

Which would be true even if his head weren’t absolutely pounding. He’d stopped at the bathroom on the way back, to try to throw up, but it wasn’t any good. 

“I think maybe we should just go home,” Terry’s mom says. “Is home--Is the house all right?”

_Oh god_ , Jason thinks. _They’re going to leave_. He’s sick. He didn’t mean what he said to Bruce about wanting to be alone.

“Yeah,” Terry says. “Last time I checked. I think Harley’s grandkids are still loose--they’d know where to go. But Barbara can post people.” He swallows. “I cleaned up. It was--well, it looks good now.”

“Terry,” Mary says. She sounds like she’s about to say more, but she just gets to her feet and pulls him into a hug. It lasts a long time. Maybe, Terry thinks, it will lat forever. He doesn't mind. At last she says, “Okay. Let’s go, then. We’ll put the TV in my room and we’ll all watch something.”

Terry breathes out. “That sounds so good, you don’t even know.”

She nods. “I’ll get Matt. We’ll call a cab.” She doesn’t even look at Jason—she’s probably too tired to look at Jason—and steps out of the room.

Jason looks up at Terry from his seat on the couch. “Hey, baby bat.”

Terry waves at him, makes a tired smile that looks like his mom’s. “Hey, kid. Want me to call Dick?”

“Nah,” Jason says, “he’s with his family. I’m good.” He smiles bravely. Really, really bravely.

Terry says, “Somebody should.” His shoulders shrug up reflexively. “I don’t know,” he says. “How are we going to get rid of him? Is it weird to feel weird about leaving the--leaving the body alone?” 

“No,” Jason says quickly. “I feel--pretty weird about it. I went in there. To get the antidote for Ace.” He swallows. “But Bruce said he’d take care of that and the crowbar and everything.”

Terry nods. He comes closer so he can put his hand in Jason’s hair. 

“Oh,” Jason says. He’d somehow forgotten already what it felt like to touch Terry. “This okay?” he asks. “Uh, I told Tim and Steph’s kids about us.” Hard to be too concerned about that right now.

“Oh yeah?” Terry says. “What did you say?”

“That we were dating,” Jason says. “Unless--that’s right, right? Because of what you said? It’s okay, you don’t have to tell your family--”

Terry says quietly, “Jeez, Jay.” He sits down and grabs Jason’s hand and says, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want them to freak out. I just don’t want to push too hard and make bad choices.” He doesn’t want to start battles with the people he just barely got back.

“Just don’t,” Jason says. His voice sounds thick, like he might cry again. “Just don’t go off and forget me, okay? Because I still want to be your boyfriend, even if I can’t be anything else.” He knows it’s not exactly easy to tell your family you’re dating a teenage stranger.

Terry bites his lip, trying not to lose his grip on rational thought. He thinks they’re coming at this conversation from two completely different places. Which isn’t surprising, because they don’t have a full brain left between them, at this point in time. Terry sits silent for a minute, trying to work up the energy to say anything, let alone anything right. 

“No life plans,” he says. “I can’t. Not today. Too tired. Come home with me and my family and Max and the dog and leave the Joker for Bruce, all right? He said he’d take care of it, and I’m gonna let him. We’ll watch a junky movie and get some sleep and tomorrow we can--” Wake up? Be friends? Turn human again? “Tomorrow I won’t be too freaked out to get things right with this,” he finishes.

“Oh,” Jason says. “I can come with you?”

Terry starts. “Of course you can come!” he says. He’s really on the edge now. “I’m not leaving you here. I just, I want to go home.” 

And he won’t think about the Joker, or where Jason will sleep or how angry his mom will be because Jason is so young, or whether she’ll finally say something about Bruce that no one can take back. Just one good night.

“Home,” Jason says, hugging Terry as hard as he can. “You got it. Okay? We’ll just do that.”

Terry nods. He’s fighting back a tide, because seeing his mother makes him feel like he has a hundred things to be ashamed of. He can’t tell how much of it is exhaustion and how much of it will still hurt tomorrow, or forever. He’s not sure how much of it is actually shameful. He wishes his face wasn’t bruised and that he wasn’t Batman. He should have told her about Bruce. He wished Jay being legal was enough. It wouldn’t have been legal when Mom was growing up. He feels like a creep and he wants something simple and good, and there isn’t anything simple or good for him to have.

“You’re keeping really quiet,” Terry says to Jason’s neck. “I mean you’re not freaking out. We should schedule a good freakout for you. It’s probably not good to repress.”

“Ugh,” Jason says, mustering up the courage not to dissolve on the floor. “You’re too healthy. But, deal. We’ll both freak out. But not tonight.”

“Fair,” Terry says. “Come on.” He bumps his shoulder against Jason’s, rubs his eyes and steers them both out into the hallway. Max and Matt and the dog are waiting.

“Miz McGinnis ordered a big cab, right?” Max asks.

“I can sit on your lap,” Jason says. He gives her a big, real smile. “This is cool. I’m glad you’re coming. Can Ace come?” Or maybe it would be better to leave someone here for Bruce if he comes back tonight. He probably will.

“He’s invited,” Terry says.

“Let’s ask him,” Max says. She scratches Ace’s head, and he lies down, jaw flat against the floor.

“Guess that solves the _leaving it alone_ problem,” Terry says. “Good dog. Good guarding dog.” Ace wheezes at him speakingly.

Matt looks at Terry’s arm touching Jason’s. He says, “Mom said meet her outside.”

“Right,” Terry says. He moves away from Jason to take his phone out, to call Dick on the way out the door. “Good boy, Ace. Good dog.”


	27. and we started at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! This is supposed to have been before the initial chapter 27. I'M SORRY. ONE MORE TO GO.

Riding home from the hospital, Bruce feels very grim. Dick drives, the children muttering in the back seat. Bruce doesn’t say anything. He hopes that the dog is happy to see him. Otherwise, he is surrounded by people who aren’t very happy about him, who would rather be with Tim—someone who usually hates him quite a lot. Bruce doesn’t pin a lot of hope on being liked and never has, but it gets tiring to be disliked by even the people you care about.

Bruce’s motions are stiff when he gets out of the car, and he hates that, too, because he feels older than usual, and awkward next to everyone watching him. Disliked and in the way. That’s what he adds up to now. Anyone who says differently is just softhearted enough not to want to feel mean.

“At least the cops weren’t all through the house,” Dick says. “Barbara promised she’d take care of that.” Barbara had sounded very harassed and tired when Dick finally talked to her. He doesn’t blame her.

“Of course she did,” Bruce sighs on his way up to the door. “I’ll have to thank her.”

“I think we owe her a fruit basket, at least,” Dick says. “Coming, kids?” 

Damian says, “I’m hungry.” The snappish and analytical parts of him were washed out about five hospital hours ago. He looks weary and small. Dick wishes he weren’t here, doing this, but he doesn’t want Bruce to have to do it alone. He wishes the kids weren’t here, but they were sick of being stuck in the hospital, and Steph needed time. He isn’t sure what to do with them here. He tries to answer like normal.

“Do I trust you in the kitchen?” Dick asks.

“We can make something _cold_ ,” Cassie says.

“Cold,” Damian agrees absently.

“There might be something to microwave,” Bruce says. Cassie and Damian glance over to him like they’d forgotten he was there. Dick knows how that look feels.

“We microwave,” Cassie says without enthusiasm. “What will you do?”

Bruce, with his hand on the door, looks at Dick. He says, “Microwave something.” He means it as soon as he says it. By all rights, he should deal with the Joker first. It shames him to admit, he can’t. He’s too tired. Too weak. It’s going to take a long time to recover from this, longer than anything used to. He needs a minute to sit down, first.

Dick ushers the children toward the kitchen while Bruce shuts and locks the door. He looks back at Bruce, to make sure it’s not just one of his deadpan jokes. He looks towards the clock, and Bruce looks away. There’s a sick little pause that probably Cassie and Damian don’t notice.

“I’m pretty good at the microwaving,” Dick says.

“Is that what you do at your secret apartment?” Damian asks.

“My what?” Dick asks. The careful nonchalance dribbles out of his voice.

“Mom said,” Damian tells him, “you have a secret apartment.” He sizes up the kitchen before he steps inside. No villains.

“I’m going to look for my dog,” says Bruce suddenly. As it turns out, can move quickly if necessary.

“Hm!” Dick says. He flicks on all the kitchen lights. It’s so much bigger than it needs to be. Like the kitchen in _The Shining,_ except instead of Jack Nicholson trying to murder people it’s just Bruce, microwaving. Dick says, “I just--kept my old apartment. In case. I wasn’t sure how long you’d...want me there. At home with you. You know, just in case you needed space.”

“Us?” Cassie asks. “Or them?”

“Both,” Dick says. “Any of you. I love you. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.” He hopes they know he wasn’t planning to run out on them.

Damian leans back against the fridge like a plank of wood, toes pointing up. “You think nobody wants you?”

“That’s sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?” Dick says. “But I guess I have some abandonment issues.” After Bruce. After--everyone.

“They really like you,” Cassie says, almost sounding frustrated.

“I know, kiddo,” Dick says. “Sometimes that doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I _know._ I just…worry.”

“Do I get a room?” Damian asks. “It’s not your secret apartment now. How many rooms is it?”

“Uh, we can work it out,” Dick says. “It’s just one bedroom, but--I’ll talk to your mom and dad.”

“Dibs on the floor,” Cassie says.

“Maybe Bruce will make us all really uncomfortable by buying us a new house,” Dick says. “Maybe that’s what he’s doing right now. Although this time I might just let him.”

“What do you mean _this_ time?” Damian asks.

Dick sighs. “Sometimes when you’ve got a lot of money, you can’t think of a solution _besides_ money.” He makes an effort. “He means well, though.”

That’s a disappointing answer. Damian hoped he’d hear about more houses that blew up. If they weren’t his, it was exciting. He drags a chair over to the freezer and climbs up to look inside.

“Indian, macaroni, microwave steak, _yuck_ , or--real soup. But frozen.”

“Some of everything,” Dick says. “We deserve a feast, right?” He wishes Bruce would come back with the dog.

Cassie sits on the floor, as she often does. “Are we really safe here?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. He remembers Harley’s grandkids. “We’re safe, but if you see anything weird, let me know.”

“What about the Joker?” Damian asks, pulling out the right food and hopping off the chair. “He’s still here, right? And the crowbar’s in the yard. We should get rid of it.” Mom wouldn’t tell him why she and Jason came back to the manor early, but Damian thinks Jason isn’t that good at keeping mouth shut or his feelings under wraps.

“Bruce and I will take care of it,” Dick says. He thinks Bruce will take some sort of grim pride in disposing of the Joker.

“Is Jason okay?” Cassie asks.

“He’s kind of jumpy,” Damian says. Not quite telling.

“Who is?” Bruce asks. Ace strides through the door in front of him, looking menacing and hungry.

“Hi, dog,” Cassie says, lighting up. She really likes Ace. He’s quiet and tough and would bite anyone. 

“Jason,” Dick says. “We wondered how he’s coping.”

“He’s coping,” Bruce says. And adds, because he ought to, “Barely. Because he has to.” He smiles. “My fault. What’s dinner?”

“Everything in the freezer,” Cassie says. She waves her hands at all the packages with their plastic foil half torn off. “Yum,” she adds.

“We should get him help,” Dick says. “Normal person help. Therapy.” That suggestion rarely goes over well, but he has to try.

Surprisingly, Bruce says, “I would like to--offer the possibility.”

“Whoa,” Dick says before he can stop himself.

Bruce grimaces and pat’s Ace’s rump. “He wants to feel safe,” he says. “I don’t think it’s my place to withhold that.”

“You could both go,” Dick says.

“Hah!” says Bruce, eyebrows up. “Too late for me, I think.”

It’s good to see he still has his sense of humor. 

“Okay,” Dick says. “What’s first, Cass?” 

“Mac-a-roni,” Cass says slowly, jabbing the microwave buttons with a fatal-looking finger. 

“Good, good,” Dick says. “Dinner, and then we can get on to the less fun part of the evening.”

Damian says, “You should probably burn him up. The Joker. To be sure.”

Dick thinks someone could do a whole nature vs. nurture study on Damian and come to the conclusion that genetics are everything, because he is exactly a funnier, slightly less ruined Bruce. “I think that’s the plan,” he says. “And I won’t forget the other thing, either.” 

He glances at Bruce, whose expression shuts off. For the first time in a very long time, Dick wants to give him a hug. It’s easy to guess what he’s seeing, instead of the three of them. That’s one of the perils of making violence an intimate part of your life. All you need is to see a body, and you can see in full color everything that was done to it.

“That would be--fine,” Bruce says, stiff and pale.

“No,” Dick says suddenly. “Bruce, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Dick,” Bruce says. It isn’t quite _no._

“I will,” Dick says. “I mean, I _can_.”

“It’s not your mess,” Bruce says.

“It’s my family,” Dick insists. “And I love my family. Yes, including you.” Which was what’s caused a lot of their problems, really. If Dick had been able to hate Bruce, he might have stopped resenting him sooner.

Bruce says, “We can do it together.”

“I--” The kids are here, so Dick can’t ask if Bruce is losing his mind. “Oh. Really?” He tells himself it’s okay to get what he wants.

“Really,” Bruce says touchily. “Now. Come on.” He spins around and off toward the cave.

Dick glances at the kids. “I take back some of what I said about Bruce. A little bit of it.”

“Thanks!” Bruce calls back.

“Weirdo,” Damian decides.

“Eat your dinner,” Dick says. 

He goes after Bruce, before Bruce hurts himself trying to do it alone. He catches up at the head of the stairs behind the clock. They climb down together with echoing steps that don’t match. Dick almost wants to say something—the need to say something is pressing at his teeth—but he can’t think of what there can possibly be worth saying. Then they’re in the doorway of the back room, standing over the body that’s caused the people Dick cares about more grief than all other things put together. Dick feels it like a backhand. He stands there speechless until Bruce says, “Damian is right. We’re burning it. No more resurrections.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Dick says. “We need to track down the creep who made it happen this time.”

“I’ll call Lex,” Bruce says. “After dinner. I’m positive he didn’t do it, but it’ll make easy work of shaking down whoever did.”

“Or it could wait till tomorrow,” Dick suggests, pointlessly. “Okay. You ready to do this?”

Bruce bends and grasps the Joker’s body under the arms. “Ready.”

Dick takes the feet, trying not to pay too much attention to what he’s doing. It’s all right. More surreal than anything. He wonders what Bruce did with the Joker the first time.

They heave him up and carry him over to the lift. The whole cave is bloody. Cleaning next. Bruce hits the controls, panting.

Dick remembers that Bruce doesn’t have to do a lot of this part anymore. Not the physical exertion, not the blood. “Let me know if you need a break,” he says. Ha, ha.

“Nothing,” Bruce says. “Ribs.” And he means it, is the stupid thing, because a couple cracked ribs _are_ nothing to Bruce Wayne. They rise up toward solid ground.

As soon as they reach the surface, Dick lets out the breath he’s been holding. Okay. Nothing terrible is happening. “Where now?” he asks. The grounds are big. Out of sight of the house is probably better.

Bruce gestures. “That copse. There’s some thinning a few hundred feet in. Enough of a path, up through there.” It was always a pretty place.

Dick swallows. “Good plan.” This is horrific. Dick is glad it’s them and not the others. He makes Bruce take it slow, keeping his own pace in check even though he’d rather run down the path as fast as he can, to get it over with as fast as he can, to get out of here and wash his hands and get the prickling, sick feeling out of them as fast as he can.

They go slow. Even so, by the time they reach the clearing, Bruce is shaking, panting, and white. “Don’t fuss,” Bruce says before Dick can complain. “That’s enough. You go take care of the other. I’ll do this.” He has the tools. This used to be a good place for a cookout.

“Okay,” Dick says a moment later. “Meet you in the kitchen when we’re done.” He doesn’t touch Bruce yet, but he thinks he might try, later. He leaves him in the clearing and goes to get the crowbar and drive off with it. At least if he chucks it in a pond a few miles away, Jason’s not likely to find it again. And it won’t look like _this one_ , which is what really matters. He digs it out of its place in the front of the house. Touching it makes him feel a little sick, but soon it will be gone.

When Dick’s car pulls out, Bruce looks down at the Joker and says, “You deserved it. And you lost.” It feels cheap to say so, makes it harder to find any catharsis. Oh well. He lights up the Joker and tries not to breathe.

~

Despite Dick’s advice, after dinner Bruce excuses himself and locks himself in the cave (alone with the blood and the crawling sensation) to call Lex Luthor. He has to make several attempts and speak around two late-night interns, but he gets through.

“Bruce Wayne,” Lex says, sounding as slick and amused as ever. He never sounds like he means a word he’s saying. “It’s been a while.”

 _Not long enough,_ Bruce almost says. That won’t help. Neither will glossing over the issue with schoolboy bravado that was immature fifty years ago.

“Someone in one of your labs brought the Joker back to life,” Bruce says. “From the moment of his death. I want to know who.”

Lex is silent a moment. Then he says, “So do I, Bruce. Because I didn’t know the Joker _was_ back. Has he been back long? How did that not make news?”

“He had a very specific focus,” Bruce growls.

“Let me guess,” Lex says. His casual tone is a little strained. “Gotham’s new protector.”

“Close enough,” Bruce says shortly.

“Regardless, the technology to do that--it exists, in many forms, but only a very few people have access. And it’s almost always volatile and unpredictable.” Lex pauses again. “Then again, I have a lot of very highly paid scientists on staff, with questionable boundaries and access to a lot of unusual things.”

“How foresightful of you to give them that access,” Bruce growls. “There were genetic signatures. We tracked the lab. It’s in New Jersey; maybe you could give me a tour.”

“Oh,” Lex says shortly. “That one. All right. We have a few very special minds there.” Special usually meaning _completely without morals_. “I can help you get rid of the Joker, if you want. It would look good for me. I’ll throw him in one of the super-prisons out of state.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bruce says. Still short. Too short. Lex knows him too well, enough to know how often he’s failed to kill the Joker before, enough to know that if the Joker is dead, someone probably did it for him.

“No?” Lex says. “Of course not. When has Bruce Wayne ever accepted help?” His tone changes abruptly. “You sound like shit. Also you’re full of it. What the hell’s been going on there, anyway?”

“Nothing we haven’t managed,” Bruce says. “But I don’t want it happening again. I want to know who did this and what business they thought they had digging up the dead.” He hears himself lose just a sliver of calm near the end, hears the twist of anguish in it. He wouldn’t let Jason die again for anything, but he is furious that someone chose for him, that someone brought him back remembering everything.

“I’ll help you,” Lex says, “if only because I’d love to get the full story from whoever dreamed this up.”

“Sure you will,” Bruce says. “If you find the time to get it out of them, in the five seconds before I--”

Bruce remembers two things. First, Lex is the president of the United States. Second, Lex is not a friend. Bruce thinks that if the culprit says the wrong word, he might really kill them. All he can think about is Jason waiting for him on a warehouse floor, brave and furious and faithful and afraid, all he can think about is Jason’s blood and how much it must have hurt, how desperate he must have been for Bruce to save him, all he can think is that after all that, some bastard had the gall to wake him up again in the middle of being murdered.

“Bad week?” Lex asks, sarcasm firmly in place. He sounds guarded, though.

“ _Bad_ week,” Bruce says. “Like I said, I want to find who’s responsible. We should go together.”

“Already contacted my pilot,” Lex says smoothly. “Tonight? Tomorrow? My schedule’s clear.” Strangely, it always seems to be.

“Tonight,” Bruce says. He’s not about to let Lex get there first.

Lex laughs savagely. “See you there, old man.” Then he hangs up.

~

Bruce says, “If I waited, he would have gone there now, by himself, and destroyed or rescued everything before I got there. You can stay here with the children. I have a spare car. I don’t need help.”

“Ugh!!” Dick says. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to call tonight, Bruce. Do you realize it was _earlier today_ you got those _horrible injuries?_ ”

“I won’t do any heavy lifting,” Bruce says good-humoredly.

Dick gives up. “Fine,” he says. “Just--I’ll wait up for you.”

“Nice of you,” Bruce says. “I think you’ve finally found your calling.”

“That was my old calling,” Dick mutters, so quietly that maybe Bruce won’t hear him. “Good luck. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Parenting is the calling,” Bruce says on his way out the door. He’s a little slower than this morning, but still game. It’s good to have the body gone. It’s good to have something to do.

Dick, baffled and pleased, watches him go. He hopes he comes back.

~

Lex doesn’t beat Bruce to the lab in Jersey, of course, but Bruce can’t get in without him. Out of politeness, Lex leaves his bodyguards on the plane, despite his inaudible protests. It’s his lab, Lex tells them. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Bruce,” he says, striding across the parking lot from the taxi that ferried him here. “You look--What _happened?_ ” Bruce appreciates honesty, ironically, and Lex would rather start out with at least the illusion of playing ball.

“Maybe you’ve missed everything I’ve been saying to you?” Bruce says.

Lex narrows his eyes. “The Joker. Did that? Okay, moving on. Let’s make it a short night for you.”

“Don’t condescend, Lex,” Bruce says. “It doesn’t look good on you. Never has. Now find me this _scientist_ so I can be sure this never happens again.”

“Gladly,” Lex says. He uses his keycard to get in and reminds himself to change the code later, just in case. “Where’s your young counterpart, anyway?”

“With his family.”

Lex opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. “Follow me,” he says, and he leads Bruce down the long, bright hall. “I can show you where the most prominent scientists in this facility work, and we can go from there. I have a few ideas, though.”

“Is this whole facility a genetics lab?” Bruce asks. “I can’t help thinking something else must be at play.” Because Jason remembers nearly everything.

“It’s--not entirely,” Lex says. “You know me, Bruce. I like to keep things interesting. And these people are all geniuses. They all have their...special areas of interest, of course. Perhaps you could help me out a little.”

“As what, a rat?” Bruce mutters. Then, more loudly, “You mean you want more gruesome details?”

“I want to _help_ you,” Lex says soothingly. Then, because soothing never works on Bruce, he adds, “Or you could beat on everyone in my lab until they talk.”

“I could,” Bruce agrees, because away from the nightmarish situation in Gotham, he feels a little more able, a little less feeble. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“Details,” Lex says. “Do you have any of his DNA? What does--did he remember? Could he be a clone? I’m assuming you ruled some things out. You’re very thorough.”

“I have his DNA,” Bruce says. He steels himself, and adds, “I have both their DNA.”

“Bruce,” Lex says, fighting not to show his curiosity. “Bruce, you know I need details if I’m going to help. And you know I’ll find out anyway. Think of me as a friend. You know—the thing I am.” He’s laying it on thick, because nothing’s telling him he can’t.

“Stop weaseling,” Bruce says. “I’m too old for that. Whoever brought back the Joker brought someone else back as well. My—my ward. And he remembers--he remembers everything.” He coughs, in the empty hall, ignoring the bright, uncomfortable lights. “He remembers being killed.”

Lex is quiet for a minute. Well, then. That’s always been something he hasn’t dared touch, hasn’t dared joke about. “Whoever did this either wanted to hurt you as badly as they could, or wanted to give you a gift and is a complete failure at gift-giving.”

“What?” Bruce says. “Give me another chance? Save Robin, kill the Joker?” He could have done without that gift, and he didn’t manage either.

“We won’t know until we grill them,” Lex says lightly. “But it seems likely. Why else those two in particular?”

“Oh, it was probably about me,” Bruce agrees. “I don’t doubt that.”

“How is--he coping?” Lex asks. He knows the kid’s name, he’s not stupid. But he’s being kind.

“He quit,” Bruce says roughly.

“Coping well, then. No offense.” It’s a wonder to Lex that any of them quit, if he’s honest. Bruce is a hard force to break away from.

“Not your business either way,” Bruce says.

“Well,” Lex says, “either way, the person who did it must know who you really are.”

“They found the bodies,” Bruce says. Meaning yes, the culprit knows who he is. “Do you write down a lot of other people’s secrets? Keep a diary under your pillow?”

“I never told _anyone,”_ Lex says. “Never put it to paper. That I can recall.” Given how patchy are his memories of his first thirty-odd years, that’s not saying much. “But let’s be honest, Bruce. It’s not _hard._ Your dead ward. Your dead Robin. I just said it--these people are geniuses.”

“No one else has come calling in the last few decades,” Bruce says, nettled. “But never mind. Maybe a better question--do you know enough about your enormous staff, Mr. President, to be aware of anyone with a Batman obsession?”

“No,” Lex says promptly. “But I can ask around. Scientists love to gossip. And they have bulletin boards. There might be clues, detective.” He shouldn’t be playing with Bruce, but he has no horse in this race.

Bruce makes a frustrated noise, too deep, and it jars his ribs.

“Give me five minutes,” Lex says hastily, as Bruce visibly refrains from clutching his side. Lex doesn’t actually want to kill him. “I’ll ask around the lab.” Bruce snorts and leans against a wall, letting Lex go.

Despite the hour, or perhaps because of it, there are eight people in the main lab, still working away on whatever it is Lex is paying them to do. 

“So,” Lex says sharply, “who’s been dipping into company funds for their own little projects? I mean lately.”

Everyone looks up because it’s the _president,_ but only two of them are stupid enough to look guilty.

Lex laughs. “We’ll have to delve more deeply into this later. All right, who wants to meet Bruce Wayne?”

A third guy raises his hand.

“Why?” Lex asks, genuinely surprised for a moment. He’s probably not even thirty. Bruce Wayne should be irrelevant. 

“Uh,” says the guy. 

“ _Why?_ ” Lex repeats, moving from friendly boss to shark immediately.

“Because he’s cool!” the scientist blurts out. “I mean famous!” Absolute jackpot.

“Let’s meet him, then,” Lex says. “ _Now._ ”

“Okay,” the guy says. “Okay, yeah. He’s here?”

“Yes,” Lex says. “Let’s do it in your office.”

“Mr. President,” the scientist says, wobbling. “Yes, sir. Yes, please. This way.”

“ Very good—your name is…?”

“Clemens. Vic Clemens.”

“All right, Dr. Clemens. Let’s go. I’ll grab Bruce on the way.” Rub in the fact that they’re friends.

“Oh man,” says Clemens. “Oh, _damn,”_ when Bruce comes into view. “Damn. Hey, wow, it’s so cool to meet you. You know in my head this wasn’t going to be creepy. Oh shit. Sorry. I know, I’m being so awkward right now. My office is right around the corner?”

Lex gives Bruce a look. “See how easy that was?” He goes into the office after Clemens and Bruce and shuts the door behind them.

Clemens jumps. “No, I know,” he says.

“Do you have a name?” Bruce asks.

“Clemens,” says the scientist. “Let me just come clean. It was totally me. I used time travel, is the part you probably missed?”

“You _what?_ ” Lex demands. His people can do that? His people can do that, and his same people start confessing before anyone’s accused them of something. Lex _has_ to work on that. It should be in the welcome packet, _Don’t confess to things you aren’t accused of and don’t share incredibly front-line technology with strangers for no reason._ Sometimes Lex is amazed that his business is running, with clowns like this trying to sabotage themselves all over the place.

“Time travel,” says Clemens. “I know. Oh shit. Sorry, I’m simultaneously really excited because the president and Batman are two feet away from me and shitting myself because I did something really stupid. Hah, not really stupid, though. It was hard, too!”

“Details,” Lex says.

“Oh. Yup. So I did the thing. I knew I could clone people, obviously, but I was going for like, the moment of death, full personality. So just cloning, no good. Found how how to retro-build dead organisms. A fresher body is better so I just...went to when...” As he sees Bruce’s face, he peters out.

“You fuck-up,” Lex says casually. He’s way more interested in the tech involved than in what Bruce will do next. If Bruce kills him, will Lex be able to find someone who understands this guy’s notes?

“Well, it works,” Clemens shrugs. “But the Joker was never supposed to--okay. I picked them because I’m a giant nerd. So I should have known I couldn’t keep either of them quiet.”

“How quiet were you going to keep them?” Bruce growls.

“Well, I would have killed the Joker,” Clemens says. “Easy peasy. No moral dilemma. I was gonna bring the kid to you. That’s nice, right? If he was okay. Is he okay?”

“If you were just going to kill the Joker, why bring him back?” Lex demands. He doesn’t like the look on Bruce’s face.

Clemens looks baffled. “To...see if I could? I mean, the guy is _totally infamous,_ like one of the greatest villains of all time. Who would not want to bring him back to life using their amazing (sorry, but it is) _amazing_ science?”

“I should murder you,” Bruce says.

“Bruce,” Lex warns.

“What?” says Bruce. “That’s what this idiot’s science project nearly did to everyone I care about.”

Lex shrugs. “I’m just not used to hearing you talk that way.”

“I reached a limit,” Bruce says.

“Oh shit,” Clemens says.

“You did this, you jackass,” Lex tells Clemens. “But is it worth it, Bruce? This twerp? Come on.” He really can’t guess the answer. He’d love to know what Bruce’s last few weeks have been like.

“Not sure,” says Bruce. “Depends. Does burning a body make your process impossible?”

“Not if there’s a gap between death and burning,” Clemens says. “Hey, we can use this to save lives. It’s very useful.”

Lex has about a dozen thoughts at once, starting with his own mortality and ending--“I changed my mind, Bruce. You can kill him.”

“How was that the bad part?” Clemens demands. “Saving…lives!”

“Whose lives?” Lex asks. “It’s too much power.”

“I was thinking, like, accident victims?” Clemens says. “Okay, I get it, but--”

“You don’t get it,” Lex says. “Do you _see_ him right now?” Maybe this kid doesn’t know how strong Bruce is or can’t see how badly this has destroyed him, or exactly how close to the edge he’s been pushed. Then again, not many people know Bruce like Lex does.

“Honestly I was just trying to think of reasons for you not to kill me,” says Clemens. “With, like, the victims and stuff. I would be tempted.”

“Well, there you go.” Lex spreads his arms. “Do with it what you will, Bruce. I’m curious to see what you decide. If you don’t kill him, I might.”

“Jesus!” says Clemens. “I’m sorry. I am. I wasn’t thinking about real life, and then he got loose and Batman fucking disappears. I realize it was a fuckup.”

“That’s not always enough,” Bruce says.

“So nobody died. Hurrah. Maybe next time everyone in your path won’t be so lucky,” Lex says. He knows Clemens can see the bruises on Bruce’s face.

“Okay, but everyone’s okay now, right?” Clemens says. “Wait, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t say if the kid’s okay.” He covers his eyes. “He was fucked up when he got out, he wasn’t supposed to be. Oh, my, god, are you going to kill me for real? Is Robin number two okay, or not?”

Lex glances at Bruce. Bruce seems pretty upset. “Don’t feel compelled to share,” he offers.

“I don’t,” says Bruce. 

“Shit,” Clemens says again. They can see him trying to keep his composure. “I told you, I was just bullshitting about--the practical applications. He flipped out, I was just sitting there working and--I really didn’t think he’d _remember_. God, I know, I’m sorry.”

“How long did you have him in here?” Lex demands. “How long, with a damaged mind and in unstable condition, in a fucking _lab?_ ” He can’t tell how much he’s putting on for Bruce and how much he means, but he _feels_ sincerely pissed off right now.

“I did him a few days before the Joker got out?” Clemens says. “And then, like, a week and a half ago, I’m sorry, I’m freaking out, I can’t count!” He peers at them miserably. The excitement of meeting celebrity has clearly worn off.

Lex says, “Whatever you were hoping to achieve, you made it significantly worse. I’d like some details about your process, but other than that, I think we’re done here. Bruce?” Bruce isn’t yelling. Bruce is worrying him a little.

“He’s alive, though, right?” Clemens says quietly. “I mean. It’s him, isn’t it? Isn’t that a good thing?” He looks up at Bruce. “Is my Joker _dead?”_

“Yes,” says Bruce. “For now.”

Clemens nods, hunching and looking down. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No,” says Bruce. “For now.”

Clemens shudders and doesn’t look up.

One thing Lex can’t deny, Bruce is very good at his job. “Then I suppose you’re my responsibility,” he tells Clemens. “Although I think you know a little more than is good for you. Well, Bruce? Do you need anything else from him?”

“If he can’t guarantee that the Joker’s death is permanent? No,” Bruce says. “Make sure you keep him somewhere safe, Lex, or he’ll be the next surprise landslide president.” He’s smart and curious and he doesn’t care what he’s done until he’s been caught. He should be locked up and never let out.

“Hm,” Lex says noncommittally. “Don’t worry. He’ll be somewhere safe.” With someone this smart, this creative, this technologically and scientifically advantaged, Lex only really has two options. “Stay here, Clemens.” Lex thinks he will. “Bruce, let me show you out.”

Clemens doesn’t say anything, or look up, as Bruce gets to his feet. 

Bruce walks stiffly alongside Lex.

“You should direct him toward a solution,” he says. “I should be able to tell them that the Joker won’t come back again. They’ve earned a promise.”

“Trust me,” Lex says, “it won’t happen again.” He doesn’t think Clemens would try the same thing again, but regardless. “Your family will be as safe as they can be in these troubled times. Of course, something can always happen. How many times have people we thought long gone risen up and--? You see my point. But I have this particular situation under control.”

“Mm,” says Bruce, and doesn’t ask what Lex is going to do to him. “Don’t you go rising people up, Lex. This is my exit.”

“Goodnight,” Lex says. “Best wishes to all of them. Truly.” He likes for things to go well with Bruce’s brood. Bruce is no fun when he’s miserable, and some of them are promising, even now.

Lex sees Bruce off the property, then goes back to Clemens’s office. “Well,” he says, “you didn’t run. That was a good choice.”

“Really?” Clemens says. “I thought m-maybe it mean I’d be more--” He chokes on _dead._ His hands are shaking on the table in front of him.

“Dr. Clemens,” Lex says, “how would you feel about a promotion?”

~

Bruce hopes that either Dick has given up and gone to bed, or that he, Bruce, can sneak by him without being noticed. But, in typical fashion, Dick is unavoidable. He’s is in the front room reading, leaning against the wall upright so he won’t fall asleep. 

“Hey,” he says when Bruce comes in. “That didn’t take so long. What happened?”

“It was a some idiot Batman fanatic’s science experiment,” Bruce says. “I don’t think he thought about what would happen if it worked.”

“Oh,” Dick says. “You okay?”

“Just a little tired,” Bruce says. “Apparently he used time travel.”

Dick sighs. “Not even on my list of possibilities. He won’t do it again?”

“I think not,” Bruce says. “Lex has him in hand. And he seemed more than usually aware of how big his mistake was. _What_ it was. And, of course, I know where to find him, now.” He sighs. “I think this young man had an idea that Jay would be a gift, if it worked. He forgot we’re real people. My fault, I guess. My image.”

“Not your fault,” Dick says. He feels exhausted by the whole thing. He doesn’t know what he’s going to tell Tim. Tim will hate it. “Call it a side-effect. You never wanted to be anyone’s hero.”

“And I largely succeeded,” Bruce says drily. “I think I’ll go to bed.” He stops halfway down the hall and says, “He was right about Jason. Regardless of the complications.” Regardless of who Jason belongs to, in the end.

“I know,” Dick says. “Hey, Bruce? I’ll be here. All night. Just so you know.” He doesn’t think Bruce will want anything, but he might need to be reminded he’s not alone.

“Hah!” says Bruce. “Somehow I’d expect Jason and Tim both to forgive me before you ever did.”

Dick shrugs. “I don’t know how well you know any of us, Bruce, but I think we’ve all forgiven you now.”

“ _Huh_ ,” says Bruce. He goes upstairs quickly, to escape having to say any more than that.


	28. picket fence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapter (new chapter 27) if you're following updates--they got swapped. MY OWN TIMELINE ERROR.

Terry wakes up too early. A few cars are going by, but the light is pale, and a few cars are always going by. He’s in his house. In his mom’s house. Everything is quiet. Everyone is safe. There are cops parked around, but that’s not weird enough to shake this now-unfamiliar sense of peace.

Terry relaxes into the feeling of his own mattress under his own blankets for a few minutes, and then gets up and tiptoes to the bathroom. He tiptoes to the kitchen next, past the living room, where Max is crashed out on the floor and Jason is curled up in a ball in the big armchair. Terry could have sworn they both started off somewhere else.

He slips into the kitchen and is halfway to the fridge before he realizes his mother is there. 

“Morning,” he whispers, and then grins at her, and then runs out of grin.

“Hey, Ter,” she says quietly. “Do you want juice?” She has to say it, this normal, stupid little thing, because she’s not going to let the Joker keep ruining things now that he’s dead. She has to keeps in line with what’s all right until they actually are.

“You’re psychic,” Terry says. “Yes, please.” There is juice, because last night they realized there wasn’t anything, nothing at all, and Terry and Matt ran to the corner store for whatever they could grab before it closed.

Mary hands him the orange juice and goes back to scrambling the eggs that were one of their only other finds. “Sleep okay?”

“So well,” Terry says. Surprisingly, it’s true. “I guess that means we’re actually okay. I didn’t sense anything bad about to go down. And also, it didn’t.”

“It didn’t,” she agrees. “We were all incredibly lucky.” She eyes the bruises on Terry’s face. “Bruce better have been there for you the past few weeks.”

“He was,” Terry says. “I mean, there wasn’t that much anyone could do. He was trying, though.” He’s making things sound bad. “I know he’s the _grownup_ or whatever, and I know the Joker is his thing, but--he didn’t know. He couldn’t have.” He blinks at his juice glass before he fills it. “We both thought the Joker was dead. And then he thought I was going to--going to die. And then I thought he was going to die.” He looks up at her. “Sorry. Too much?”

“Honest is fine,” Mary says. “Even if it’s rough. I prefer it.” She still doesn’t like Bruce. Hates him, maybe. But what Terry does with his life is his choice, now.

Terry hugs himself. “Sorry,” he says again. He feels sick, watching her be disappointed in him. He woke up, and in the first couple of minutes, sorting through all his thoughts, Jason seemed like a good idea, a little tough, but good. In the first couple minutes, the butterflies in his gut could have been Terry working up the will to tell her. Now he’s losing his will to say anything. He doesn’t want to hear her hate it.

“Terry,” she says, “I’m not angry at you. What would I be angry about? You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you? I’m even willing to concede that it’s not entirely Bruce’s fault. And you were so brave.”

Terry’s not foolish enough to ask for more than that. “I made it happen to you,” he says. “Because I couldn’t let it go when dad died. If I had let that alone, I wouldn’t be Batman, and the Joker wouldn’t have cared about us.”

Honest Terry is saying something it took Mary years to come to terms with, but she’s gotten there now. “Don’t,” she says. “If you weren’t Batman, there would a lot of other people dead. Including Bruce.”

Terry nods. “Sorry,” he says. “I know. Uh--so, Jason. Before everyone got up, I wanted to--”

“Explain him? Explain why he’s so attached to you?”

Terry tries not to flinch. This is definitely mom-talk.

“He’s--he woke up in Gotham and there were flying cars, Mom,” Terry says. “The last thing he remembered was dying. All his friends are old or gone, but--I still get it. I’m still living the kind of life he was living, before--” He shrugs. “We both needed someone to talk to. And we get along.”

“He seems nice,” Mary says carefully. He does, actually, underneath the rage and panic. But a good-hearted disaster can still be dangerous. People _do_ go off the rails and stay there. She tries: “I’m glad you’ve had someone besides Bruce to spend time with.”

“Hah,” Terry says. He’s never sure if his mother _knows_ about Bruce, but he’s always afraid he’ll find out. “I—yeah. He’s nice. And he needs somebody. I--I do, too. Y’know? Not just somebody like you guys.” His face must look like a Picasso just now.

“You can tell me if you’re dating,” his mother says.

“Aaaah,” Terry says.

“I always thought it might be nice for you to date again,” she protests. “After you and Dana broke up. Oh, but maybe you did. How would I ever know? You don’t talk about your love life.” She offers Terry a plate of eggs.

“And I won’t,” Terry agrees.

“I hope he’s older than he looks,” Mary says. She could let it drop, but she won’t.

“Yeah,” Terry says slowly. “That’s the thing.”

“How young?” She doesn’t want to sound horrified. This is her brave, good son. But she also doesn’t want him making a mean, stupid mistake.

“How young is too young?” he asks unhappily. “No, don’t say a number. He’s sixteen.” It doesn’t feel like it matters, when his mother’s stricken face isn’t involved. Objectively, generally, it probably matters, even though Jason’s smart and experienced and Terry is slightly wrapped around his finger. Subjectively, it never mattered to Terry with Bruce, and Bruce is a thousand years old. From his mother’s perspective, though...

“Ah,” she says. “That’s--young. Does he have parents?” 

Terry plops down on a bar stool, clutching his arms. “No,” he says. His voice is small.

Mary wonders if now is the time to ask Terry about Bruce, but the time for that is probably still never. She could ask about Jason and Bruce, though. Neither of them is her son. “I—Oh, yes. I do seem to remember Bruce taking in several young men, in the past.” Robins, obviously, and why that wasn’t obvious to the general public of Gotham, she doesn’t know. Some things, however, are more obvious. “Terry, is this a Batman thing? Your involvement with Jason, I mean.”

“What?” Terry jumps up, flushing and upset. He doesn’t know what he expected. “No! I mean, not for me! I’m not--” How was he planning to end that sentence? He’s not _Bruce?_

“Okay,” Mary says, taking a deep breath. “I had to check. I don’t know what either of you thinks he has to do.”

Terry feels her cross a line like an electric jolt.

“It’s not prostitution!” he says in disbelief, but she’s so close to understanding, and it makes him feel sick to lie after everything else.

“I just don’t want you to make a mistake,” she says resolutely. “I don’t even know this boy, Terry.”

“It’s not like that, mom. No one has to--” He was wrong to think that today he’d be able to handle the aftermath. He puts down his fork, finally, and rubs his hands together and doesn’t look at Mom. “He’s fine, okay? He’s fine. Not right now, because of what the Joker did. He’s not doing the job stuff anymore, okay? He’s just my friend. My--he’s just a guy. That I can talk to about things. Who likes me, I think.”

Mary says, “I don’t want to fight. I just don’t know--” She laughs suddenly. “I don’t know, Ter, maybe this is all really stupid. I wasn’t eighteen when I started seeing your father.” Yes, she married a man she met at seventeen. Her mistake, probably. Maybe she should talk to Jason. Wouldn’t Terry hate _that?_

“No, I know,” Terry says. “It’s just, there’s nobody else in the world, and I need, it’s just--” He rubs his face. “I swear I’m not trying to do anything messed up.”

“Oh,” Mary says. “I _know_ you’re not. I didn’t mean that.” She puts her hand on his head. “But sometimes people make stupid mistakes over a crush. I just don’t want anyone hurt.” She’s torn between _not my business_ and _sixteen years old_.

“I know,” Terry says again, tearing up. “I wish we didn’t even talk about this. It might not even be a thing now. I don’t know, I don’t know. Everything’s crazy.”

“Okay,” Mary says suddenly, and smoothes out her shirt. “I want to forget about it. When you know what’s happening, we’ll talk then.” Matt won’t let it go, probably, but she can try. For her own sake, as much as anyone’s. She gives Terry a tight hug. “Ter. I love you.”

“Um,” Terry says obviously. “Yeah. You too.” Except now there’s this lump of not quite rightness between them, and part of, Terry realizes, has always been there. She’s always assumed, since she found out that Terry is Batman, that Bruce—well, that he _something._ The Joker stuff is devastating, but all the things that are Terry’s fault—he’s not sure if he would change them. It feels awful.

Mary lets go. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to get the others up and we’re going to feed them.”

She goes to gather everyone into the kitchen, not really happy with the first conversation of the morning. This was a bad time, but it wouldn’t have been fair to let it go now and say something later. She looks at Jason, curled up and fast asleep. Robin, the one that disappeared. He looks like the kind of high school dropout who breaks your heart by falling down a hole and never climbing out again. Well, she’s going to get to know him, come heartbreak or otherwise.

Max comes out of the bathroom while she’s looking at him. Max says, “Morning, Miz McGinnis.”

Mary looks up, startled. “Oh, hi, Max. I was just about to wake everyone up for breakfast.” Max must know about Terry and Jason. Mary tries not to think about that. In the chair, Jason makes a sleepy sound but doesn’t stir.

“I think he’s kind of worn out,” Max says. “I’m not about to play _who’s got it baddest?_ but damn. I mean, yikes.”

“And he doesn’t have anywhere to go?” Mary asks.

“I guess he’ll stay with Mr. Wayne,” Max says. “The other ones get some of their bad shit, I mean stuff, points in all this from their house getting blown up.”

Mary winces. “Oh. This is too--how’s Terry doing? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” Max glances towards Matt’s room. “I think he’ll be all right, now you’re back. Even if things are tough for awhile.”

“I trust you to know.” Mary smiles at Max. “And—do you think Jason’s a good kid?” It’s not really what she’s asking.

“Jason’s got some shit,” Max says. “Stuff. But he and Terry are good for each other. And he’s not really a kid. Not like Matt. And, seriously, who else can they even date?”

Jason is better than any of the alternatives Mary can think of. “Well,” she says, “I just said I trust your judgment. I’ll have to let it go.” Jason makes a little questioning sound.

“Oh, this is too sad,” Max says. “Hey, little Jay, no bad dreams, wake up and smell the eggs.” She leans down and, after a second, decides not to touch him in case it causes him to make an amazingly bad impression. “The eggs smell great, by the way,” she tells Mary. “Not burned, even. No one at the manor can cook. That means you, Jason Todd. Wake up or I’ll start pinching.”

“Huh?” Jason says, sitting bolt upright. “Whoa, sorry, weird as--anyway. Dream. Hi. Eggs s-sound great.”

“Ugh, you’re adorable,” Max says. This is code for _I’m so grateful that you’re not completely ruined just now._ She does not plan on sharing the code with Mary.

Jason lights up, ignoring Max. Terry and Matt have emerged from Matt’s room. Terry looks guilty and Matt looks suspicious, but, Mary thinks, they don’t seem upset with each other.

“Hey, Terry,” Jason says. “Your chair out here is really comfortable. I could get used to this cushy middle-class lifestyle.” Matt narrows his eyes. Jason winces and eyes Mary, obviously aware that he’s not saying the right things, but Mary couldn’t care less if he’s a little graceless.

“Sometimes in the middle-class lifestyle there are beds,” Terry says. “Or couches, anyway. _Max.”_

“What?” Max says. “I tried the couch. I like floors.”

Matt, who’s been scowling at himself, shoves through the conversation and sticks his hand out in Jason’s face.

“If you’re gonna be in my house, we’ve got a truce, all right?”

Jason slowly smiles and shakes Matt’s hand. “Uh, well, then you can call me Jay, I guess. My friends call me Jay.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Jay.” He glances at Terry and lets go.

“Thanks,” Jason says, a little baffled, directing it halfway between Terry and Matt. 

Terry says, “Breakfast?” and sidles toward it. He manages to sneak by Jason in the middle of his sidle. He puts his hand on Jason’s neck for just a second as he goes by. Sometime Jason will tell Terry what a sucker he is for that move. He follows Terry into the kitchen, looking at Max, who is the only person he feels safe making eye contact with.

Max says, “Miz McGinnis can cook, Jay. Observe her skills.”

“Gah,” Jason says. He tells Terry’s mom, “I set pots of water on fire by accident.” She laughs, but she looks worried. Jason can’t tell if it’s about him or not.

Terry says, “The food _has_ been getting better. Maybe you just need to cook full time, until it can’t help sinking in.” He makes a face that Jay thinks is supposed to be a smile, but it just looks awkward. The comfort of that touch on the neck withers away. Jason forces a smile back at him. 

“Well, someone has to look out for Bruce,” he says brightly.

“He can afford a cook,” Mary says.

“Good luck getting anyone into that house,” Terry says. “I don’t think he’s planning on being sociable again. Ever again.”

Mary sighs. “I’m trying to think of him as not _just_ an asshole. You’re making it difficult.”

“Whoa,” Jason says. “A mom I can swear around.” He gets why she hates Bruce. He doesn’t really blame her.

“You can, but Matt and Terry can’t,” she specifies.

Max says, “Me either. Not fair.”

“I don’t really swear…” Terry says.

“I _know_ ,” Jason says. “It’s unreal. Talk about a Boy Scout. Uh, that’s still a thing, right?” He almost misses the look Mary gives him, but not quite. It’s a mom look. A _who is taking care of this one?_ look. Well, he can swear around her and the rest of them can’t, so Mary McGinnis isn’t the answer.

“It’s a thing,” Terry says. “I’m not one, though.”

“They would’ve kicked you out,” Matt says.

“They probably would’ve kicked you both out,” Mary says, patting Matt on the back. “At least if you acted there the way you did at home.”

“No way,” Matt says. “I’m just mouthy! Ter’s the bad one.” He gives Terry a sweet smile and Terry pushes him in the face, not roughly.

Jason decides in that moment that Matt is probably okay after all. Probably. “Do you think the others are doing okay? I didn’t get to see Tim.”

“They would’ve called if something was wrong,” Terry says. “I wish they’d let us know if anyone ended up back at the manor, though.” 

_Because of the Joker’s body,_ Jason thinks. 

“Ace needs breakfast,” Terry says.

“I’ll bet Bruce went,” Jason says. “Because he’s Bruce.”

Terry rolls his eyes. “Likely.”

Max says, “This is an awkward segue, but I’m planning to leave town in a couple hours?”

They all turn to look at her.

“Of course,” Mary says after a moment. “I would, too. You’ve done more than enough, Max.”

Terry says, “Do you want someone to come with you?”

“No,” Max answers decisively. “I think I need some space. Much as I love you.”

“You should visit, though,” Jason says, instead of _please please please don’t leave, you’re the only one who’s chill_. “You know, when you’re ready.” Jason really doesn’t want Max to go, but he can understand wanting to be really, really far away.

“I’m not ruined,” Max says. “Just freaked out by killing somebody, oh my god. I killed on of the most famous bad guys in national history and I’ll never tell anyone. There will be so much therapy, I swear. If I can ever figure out how to talk to a therapist about that. But hey, I’ll see ya on breaks.”

“Can I hug you?” Jason asks. “I can’t believe I hated you for the five minutes I thought you were dating Terry.”

Max laughs at him, really loudly and for too long, and she points at him at one point. “No,” she says. “I am not dating _Terry_.”

Jason grins sheepishly. “My bad.”

“You can hug me,” Max says. “But I’m not leaving for a couple hours. Looked up schedules earlier.”

Mary shakes her head. “Wow. Well, you’re always welcome here--you and anyone you want to bring.”

Max says, “Thanks for the tacit acceptance of my lesbian tendencies, Miz McGinnis.”

“I would not call them tendencies,” Terry says.

“People seem mostly cool with that, huh,” Jason says. “Just occurred to me.”

“With what?” Matt says.

“Um, lesbians and stuff,” Jason says, feeling stupid. “You know. Gay stuff.”

“Gay stuff,” Matt repeats.

“Matt’s being a jerk,” Terry says. “It’s not a solved problem. Just way better, right? That specific thing.”

“Yeeeeeah,” Max says, “You should ask my parents.”

Jason nods. “Way better is good. Sorry. Still adjusting.” Now Mary is definitely giving him a _poor kid_ look.

“Sucks for you,” Matt says.

“Yeah,” Jason says. He stops himself from apologizing again. _Come on, get it together._ “Well, you guys are catching me up, I guess. I already learned about all the Star Wars sequels.”

“I meant it sucks that things were bad,” Matt says. “When you were--here before. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Jason says, startled. “That’s--Thanks. Thanks.” He doesn’t think anyone’s actually said that to him before. “I mean, I had it okay. I come off pretty straight, not like Dick. You know, Nightwing.” _Shut up, Jay._

“Yeah, well,” Matt shrugs. “Hey, how about Star Wars? You mean there was just the first three when you--saw them?”

“Yeah!” Jason says. “But going on what Terry says, they should have stopped there, right?”

“No, because the _sequel_ trilogy—” Matt starts ferociously.

Mary pats Terry on the shoulder while they talk. “Hey, Ter,” she says. “I like him.”

“Nice, huh?” Terry says. “Does that mean you’re not going to have some embarrassing cornering mom talk with him?”

“Hm,” Mary says. “We’ll see. I’d like to just talk to him. It’s hard—to be cool mom, with all this stuff happening.” She laughs, a little worrying hiccup. “I think I’ll need to borrow some of Max’s therapy.”

Terry watches Matt and Jay and Max talking, and mutters, “Can you just not--you know--interrogate him? He’s already scared of you.”

“Trust me, you got it worse than he’s going to get it. Because you’re my kid.” Maybe making light of it will help soften some of what she said earlier.

“Fair,” Terry says, although, is it? Whatever. He just doesn’t want anyone in tears at the end.

“Don’t worry, Terry,” Mary says. “I just think he might need someone checking up on him who isn’t so involved with—all that stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not casing the joint that is my unsuitable maybe boyfriend,” Terry says, sarcastic and fond and helpful.

“Boyfriend,” Mary says thoughtfully, and Jay’s head _whips_ around. He looks sickeningly hopeful.

“Seriously?” Terry says, laughing. “All it took was one commitment word to get your attention? Jeez, next time I’ll know.”

“Well,” Mary says, “commitment isn’t nothing. It does make a difference.” To her, for some reason. Clearly to Jason.

“Mm,” Terry says, managing not to look at everybody at the same time. Soon, he hopes, _he_ will get some alone time with Jason, before Jay determines that Terry hates the sight of him. Before Terry overthinks everything and starts to believe that he might.

“I’ll make the next round of eggs,” Jason announces. He looks like he wants to flee. “Help me out, Terry?”

“Oh, no,” Terry says. “I’m not a help. Max is watching, and I am not ready to be judged.”

“I’m taking a shower now,” Max says. “Fear not. But someone should call the manor. Not me.” She gets up and slams the bathroom door smartly behind her. 

“Is there even a towel in there?” Matt asks. 

“She can probably find her own towel,” Terry says.

“Tell you what, Terry, you call the manor,” Jason says. “I’m going to follow through and make food. If that’s cool with your mom.”

“It’s cool,” Mary says.

“Follow through,” Matt says with a snort. Terry smacks his arm. “What?” Matt says. “It was kinda funny!”

“You’re not kinda funny,” Terry says. “‘Scuse me.” He leaves them for his bedroom.

“I can show you where things are in the kitchen,” Mary says to Jason. “If you really want to know.”

“I meant it about cooking!” Jason says.

Mary laughs, not entirely comfortable. He’s so eager to please. “Okay. Come on.” She gives Matt a _stay put_ look. Matt makes a face, but he doesn’t argue as Mary takes Jason to the kitchen.

“So, um,” Jason says. “No one I know really knows how to cook, so maybe you could tell me what you do...” He looks like he is ninety percent nerves.

“Why don’t you watch for now?” Mary says, taking pity on him. “I know you haven’t really had an easy time lately. Maybe even more than the rest of us.”

“Oh, no,” Jason says. “That’s not. Um, I don’t have to be here if you don’t want.”

“Hey,” Mary says. “Jay. I’m not about to attack you. I’ll show you, okay?”

Jason tries to get ahold of his tongue before he babbles his way into something completely wrong. “I’ll only learn if I do it,” he blurts.

“Okay,” Mary says. “Makes sense. That’s how Terry is, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason says. He wonders if he’s supposed to know that already.

“Jason...” Mary rubs her temples. “I don’t want to corner you, you know. I just never know what’s going on in Terry’s life. I worry even when things are _normal_.”

Jason nods. Moms. He hears they’re like this when they’re not like his. (Deadbeat. Dead.) “I don’t think I’m gonna rub off on him, if you’re worried about that,” Jason says. “He’s way too good for--me.”

Mary frowns. “That’s kind of the opposite of what I’m worried about. Not that Terry’s _bad_ , but--I just don’t want a kid getting in over his head with--with someone trying to be Batman.”

“ _Trying?_ ” Jason demands, before he has time to think. “Oh my God. No. Terry is amazing. Terry is better than Bruce. Terry was keeping up on Gotham, giving the cops the runaround, _and_ hiding it from everybody, all while his family were hostages! That’s incredible!”

“I didn’t mean that,” Mary says. “I just meant—oh, I probably just shouldn’t listen to rumors.”

Oh. “You mean…Robin rumors?” he asks. He really shouldn’t. He’ll be on his ass in no time, and Terry’s mom will find out how awkwardly ineffective it is to call the cops on Bruce Wayne.

“Yes,” Mary says. “I’m not--accusing Terry of anything. I just want to know that you boys are all right.”

“Yeah!” Jason says. “Oh. Yes. Terry’s okay. I think he makes everything else more normal just by being there. Anyway, he’s _honorable_.”

“Oh,” Mary says. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone could have said about him.” So Jason doesn’t just feel obligated because Terry’s Batman. Good. That would break Terry’s heart, because of course he wouldn’t want it.

“Easy guy to be nice about,” Jay says.

“He is,” Mary says. “He’s a really good person.” She knows that. She should have left it alone and not hurt his feelings. As for the problem of Bruce, she can tell she’ll have to keep on letting it lie.

“Yeah,” Jay says. He looks at her hopefully. “I’m not doing the sidekick thing anymore,” he says. Why? Why won’t he shut up instead of groping around in a panic? Mary put down the egg carton.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t being fair to Terry. This world he’s been sucked into is just—I don’t understand it, and I know he’s strong, I just never know if it’s enough. He used to get in a little trouble in school. I was afraid something would tip the scale. But I guess even Bruce Wayne couldn’t do that. Terry’s too smart to get screwed up by that old geezer. Or any other.”

Jason tries not to laugh in horror. “You’ve got their numbers, huh? Well, don’t worry. I latch on kind of fast, but I know a good thing when I see it.” Bruce was a good thing, too, but he’ll stick up for Bruce when he’s not trying to convince his boyfriend’s mom to like him. “I like Terry a lot.”

“I can tell. He likes you, too. He hasn’t really dated anyone since his high school girlfriend, at least that he’s told me about.”

“Hah,” Jason says. Haha, _oh god._ “Yeah. I think I might know more about dating than him?”

“So I don’t need to protect you?” Mary says. Sixteen doesn’t always mean the same thing for everyone, she reminds herself.

Jason doesn’t even know what to say to that. He can’t remember ever being protected. Because there’s a difference between keeping somebody nearby or taking their side or feeling bad about the situation and actually _protecting._ He’d say he doesn’t need it anyway, but he did need it. It just didn’t happen.

“Probably not,” he says.

“Or we can talk about this when know each other,” Mary says apologetically. “I’m glad Terry found someone he could talk to.” Even now that Mary and Matt know his secret, Terry won’t talk to them about everything. Oh well, that’s what they get for being the family. She can’t even really blame him.

“Uh, yeah,” Jason says, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. “I’m really okay. How do these egg things work?”

“Okay,” Mary says. “Eggs. I’ll show you.”

Jason grabs the eggs off the counter. “Cool,” he says. And then, more carefully, “Cool.” He’s not going to fall apart in the middle of this. He refuses. He’s going to learn something and distract Terry’s mom from looking sad or saying things that back Jason into a corner. He’s going to keep being okay at least until Terry comes and tells him everyone he cares about is still in one piece.


	29. how to make boys next door

Terry takes the call in the middle of breakfast, jumping up from the couch like a porcupine just quilled him. “Bruce,” he says, as he vanishes into his bedroom. The door shuts. Matt and Mary and Jason are all frozen with their forks in the air, looking at each other and not looking at each other. Max is in the bathroom. Jason has the weirdest thought, which is that he should go to the door and let her know something is happening.

They’re still sitting like that a few minutes later when Terry comes back and says, “They found out where Jay and the Joker came from.”

It’s good there’s nothing in Jason’s mouth, because he thinks he would choke on it. As it is, he feels lurching and sick.

“Oh,” he says as lightly as possible. “So, am I, an android, or an alien, or what? Don’t forget brainwashed. Is it mind control? I’m just programmed that way?” _Shut up, Jay,_ he tells himself. These aren’t the things you say to make Mary and Matt McGinnis like you.

“No, buddy, it’s okay,” Terry says. “You’re just you. I made sure they were sure, and they’re sure. You’re just yourself. The attacking people thing was probably shock. The whole thing wasn’t even a sinister plot.”

“I think it was a little sinister!” Mary says.

“Oh,” Jason mumbles. He feels relieved and shaken and transparent. Terry’s family’s going to think he’s a head case. “What was it, then?”

“Apparently some guy at LuthorCorp wanted to test his theories of resurrection on his own time. And he’s a _big_ Batman fan. Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s…it?” Jason asks. It’s like having the whole apartment building pop like a bubble around him. “That’s what I got PTSD for? Some fan’s sick game?”

“That’s better than dead, right?” Matt says, and he sounds so reasonable that for a couple seconds no one notices he isn’t smiling.

“I know,” Terry starts.

“ _No you don’t_ ,” Matt shoots back, nearly a scream. No one expects it, and for a second there’s a paralyzed silence.

Then, “ _Yes I do_ ,” Terry snaps, and it’s weird, because he does, and that makes everyone quiet down.

“Boys,” Mary says, but not like she really wants them to stop. She sounds sad and tired. Jason hugs himself uncomfortably.

“Is he going to pay?” Matt asks. “That guy who did it? Is he going to pay for it?”

“I don’t know,” Terry says.

“I don’t care,” Jason says. “For once in my life, I don’t. As long as it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

“Of course you don’t care,” Matt says. “Because you got the best deal out of it. You got everything. You get to move into that big old mansion and live a whole new life where everyone loves you, even _him.”_ He jerks his thumb at Terry, and it makes Jason furious, how hard Matt is trying to make him feel dirty about it. Matt’s a kid and he’s just been through something, but guess what? So has everybody.

“I’m not _bitching_ about any of that,” Jason says. “Listen, I feel shitty about what happened to you. But this has kind of sucked for me too.”

“Let’s not compare notes,” Terry says. “Okay?”

Max opens the bathroom door. “There’s yelling. I missed a thing,” she says.

“I just want this to be over and people to be okay,” Jason says miserably.

“Well, we are, right?” Max says. “I mean, no one died and everyone’s friends. Kind of.”

“Right,” Mary says firmly. “It’s going to take us a while to feel normal again, but that’s all right, too.”

“And we can have our fucked up ex-superhero boyfriends over on Wednesdays,” Matt says. “Game night, maybe?”

“ _What?_ ” Terry isn’t even annoyed. He just can’t help noticing that his serious trooper of a little brother’s mood is ramping up the more things settle down. “Hey. Mattie,” he says. “You wanna go on a walk with me?”

“I--” Matt looks ready to fight, but he pauses. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Cool,” Terry says. “C’mon.”

He gets up and walks out without looking at anyone else. They can deal with themselves. It’s Terry’s job to deal with Matt. His brother follows, almost obediently, except he’s too tense. “Are you mad?” he asks when they’re outside.

“No,” Terry says. “We just haven’t been alone yet. And you seem kind of rough around the edges. For _some_ reason.” He drags out _some_ so that the sarcasm would be visible from space.

Matt glowers at the ground. “It was the worst,” he says. That’s one tiny corner of how he’s been feeling. He tugs at it. “I was so mad.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you, Mattie,” Terry says. “I really, really tried.” He sounds so tired, and Matt doesn’t want to hear him sounding so, so tired.

“I’m not mad at _you_ ,” Matt says, between fury and the edge of tears. “I’m mad at--this whole everything. Batman and the Joker and everything, and all this bad _shit_ happens and all the good guys do is talk about who used to do it!” He’s flushed, sure he’s going to get in trouble for swearing, and the other stuff.

“I don’t know,” Terry says. “I mean--I’d drop the whole gig if I thought it would make you safe. Is it really that bad? Uh, I mean the gossip. When would you even have heard that?”

“Is that what they were _actually talking about?_ ” Matt demands. “I was just being a jerk. Jeez.”

“Hah,” says Terry. “Yeah.” 

Matt says slowly, “I don’t want you to quit. I just want to stop feeling like--this.”

“Might take awhile,” Terry says. “I don’t know. Do you want to--do something? Do nothing? Do whatever works, right? I mean, I want to help.”

“I guess,” Matt says. It feels like nothing will ever work right again. “I just want to kick everyone’s butt right now. Sorry.”

That’s fair, and Terry knows it, and he’s suddenly ready to just _agree_ instead of smoothing things over. He remembers waking up, hurting, feeling like he was going to die, and that one sick moment drags him into a waterfall of everything else. Every second he thought about them, every second he failed them, every time the Joker pounced on him while he lied through his teeth to everyone he hadn’t lost yet. Every time Bruce kept trying to talk about _school_ like it mattered, every time he summoned up a kiss or a quip or a smile, and the whole time, he thought--

“Matt,” he says. “Matt. You don’t know how much better this is than—I don’t mind if you’re mad and you feel bad. I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t think I’d get you back, Mattie. I thought you and mom were dead. I never said to anyone, but I thought you were dead the whole time.”

“Oh,” Matt says in a tiny voice. “Don’t--Don’t say that--Um--” And then he’s crying a little, because he still can’t believe they’re _not_ dead. They’re not going to die. He grabs Terry and holds on tight. “It’s okay, stupid,” he mutters into his shoulder. “I’m not. I’m right here.”

“I know,” Terry says, hugging him side to side. “Every time I can’t see you for a second I start thinking maybe you’re not really here, you know? I’m so sorry for what he did. I should’ve done better. It’s my job to do better. I was so scared, Matt. I got so tired but I couldn’t stop because what if he was telling the truth? What if I was lazy and it got you killed? I didn’t save dad, I can’t--”

“Stop it,” Matt says. They can’t both freak out. He’s gotta hold it together. “That wasn’t your fault. You’re the good guy. And it’s not like awful stuff wouldn’t happen to us if you were just a normal guy. Stuff happens to everybody in Gotham all the time. I just...sometimes I wish you weren’t Batman because then they wouldn’t come after you.”

“I know,” Terry says. “Yuck. I mean, I’m pretty good at it. I think I help. But it screws things up for everybody else.” It’s not just him. It was like that for the older ones, too. It still is. Knowing that doesn’t help.

“I just felt--” Matt kicks a rock. “I don’t know. Like I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to be able to do something. That’s why I don’t like Jason. Because he’s out here doing stuff and getting a shot at everything.”

“He’s not, though,” Terry says. “I mean--you really don’t like him? Shit. I’m sorry. I know, it’s weird, I’m completely--” He shakes his head. “What exactly are you saying to me, squirt?”

Matt shoves his hands in his pockets and glares at the sky. “I don’t care if you have a boyfriend or whatever,” he says. “Just, he and the Joker came from the same place. And then we were locked up all that time, and he was out here. And he got to have you and we didn’t. And we thought maybe you were dead, because we saw—I’m just sick of sitting and being useless when there’s all this stuff going on!” Nobody ever wants him to talk about how he feels, except mom, and he won’t really talk to her. This is weird. He’s not sure if it’s helping or not.

“Hey,” Terry says. “You’re barely out of it. I’m going to--I’ve been staying with Bruce, but I’m going to come back here and Jay’s going to go back to the manor. Family time. We’ll figure it out with school and your friends and all that. Just take a few breaths, okay, Matt? This isn’t about Jason. It’s about us.”

“Oh,” Matt says. “Okay. I knew that. Kind of.” He looks back at Terry. “Thanks.”

Terry sighs. “I missed you, okay? Me, not _Batman._ I mean, I was scared, but I also _missed_ you.”

Matt hugs him again. “I’ll try to stop being such a jerk to your weirdly normal boyfriend.”

Terry laughs, about to point out that Jason’s not _that_ normal, and then swallows it and says, “Oh my god, what does that mean?”

“ _You_ know,” Matt says. “After when you said you liked girls for a million years and then you had the secret thing with Mr. Wayne?” Oh man, he’s going to get smacked for that one.

“No,” Terry says. “No, no, you would have been way madder if you thought that. You’re just pulling that out of your butt. Who taught you to troll, squirt?”

Matt narrows his eyes. “Am I right, thought? I didn’t think of it until Jason was so weird about everything. About Mr. Wayne, I mean. And then mom was weird about stuff, too, so I thought maybe--I’m _totally_ right.”

“Don’t _tell,”_ Terry says. “Oh, god. I liked it when you were little and annoying and totally oblivious.”

“And now I’m smart,” Matt says smugly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I don’t want to know, anyway. I’m not even going to think about it.” Having blackmail material might have seemed fun a while ago, but now he just wants Terry to know that he’s not stupid or out of the loop.

“Thanks,” Terry says. “I know, I know, I’m your creepy older brother now and things will never be normal again.” He’s not joking, even though maybe he could have pretended.

“You’re too boring to be creepy,” Matt says. “I don’t care about your weird sex stuff anyway. I just care that you’re around still.” He punches Terry’s arm.

“Ugh,” Terry says. “Never say that again. And never tell me if you ever grow up and have _any_ sex stuff. Ugh, why did I _say_ that?”

Matt laughs. “I definitely won’t tell you.” Not that he even wants that, but whatever. “C’mon, let’s go back in. I’m kind of cold.”

“Oh good,” Terry says. “Me too. Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Awesome,” Matt says. He breathes easier when Terry slings an arm around his shoulder, and they go back inside. 

He breathes easier when Jason leaves, and when Max does, and he sleeps more on some nights than he did the first two. At least a little of every problem begins to show signs of being solved. At least a part of every day starts to seem possible.

~

They could split, once the Joker is dead, but that isn’t what happens. Everyone has converged on the manor like it’s the old days but more so. Things are a little more aired out. Tonight almost everyone is here, between visits and promises of food and Tim’s turn to babysit while also doing research, and Terry going to work. It almost feels like a party, one of the ones that Bruce doesn't host anymore. Bruce still hiding away from the crowd, while everyone else settles in for a hectic visit or a long night. 

Cass has taken an interest in exploring the grounds of the manor, and Jason seems more than happy to join in. They have already vanished, while everyone else crowds around and makes good-humored noise. Even Damian wants to be here. And Tim, too. He’s still on crutches, but he looks better with work.

“I can’t believe how many times the kids have asked to come visit in the past couple weeks,” Steph says. She leans against the arm of a well-upholstered sofa.

“They probably felt cooped up, that’s all,” Dick says apologetically. “No school, no space.” His emergency apartment really wasn’t meant for more than one person. Less five, with needs.

“Our new house is big,” Damian says. “We’ll have room there. This one’s just more interesting.”

“I thought the manor would creep me out more,” Matt says. It doesn’t at all, mostly. And his mom doesn’t even mind him being here. Much.

Terry thinks their mom has been so patient lately that she’s probably hiding an upcoming nervous breakdown. He says, “Nice, with the creepy.”

“Everyone knows Bruce Wayne is a crazy old hermit.” A crazy old hermit who’s probably listening around the corner. “Or, you know, normal people know that. Think that.”

“Can it, kid,” says Terry. Dick bites his lip and tries not to look delighted.

“It’s true, though,” Damian says. “When I’m a superhero--”

“Whoa, whoa,” says Dick.

Matt perks up. “Yeah?”

“ _No_ ,” Tim says. “How many times have you heard me say that’s not an option?”

“Let him talk,” Steph says. Shutting Damian up is usually a mistake.

“I like Terry. I think I’ll be Robin.”

“Absolutely not,” Tim snaps. “No more Robins.” He may not hate it all so much anymore, but this business is not for his baby.

“Hmm,” says Dick. “I don’t think this is a question for just this moment. Even I was older than ten, even if Damian does have advantages. Deal with me, kid?”

Damian says slowly, “Yesss?”

“When you’re old enough to drive?” Dick says. “We can chat.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, which could be good or bad.

“Wow,” Matt says. “You’re way cooler than most dads, Mr. Grayson.”

Damian says, “Not that cool. That’s a really long time! That’s half of my life!”

“That,” Dick says, “is kind of the point.”

“Oh, well,” Terry says. “If Damian’s out of the running, I guess Robin is all yours, Matt. You’ll get old enough before he does.” 

“Ha,” Matt says. “Mom would ground me for life. Besides, then you’d be my _boss_.”

“Which would be funny,” Terry points out peaceably, “because then you couldn’t get all mad about how I’m _not_ your boss.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Matt says, glancing at the others. “I don’t have training or anything.”

“Hm,” says Terry. “We can work on that.”

“Starting now,” Matt suggests.

Terry is about to laugh and say something back when Damian throws something at the floor. The sound slaps hard against the walls, and Damian says, “You don’t get everything just because you say so! You don’t have to make a joke about everything! I wish you knew more about fighting so I could knock your teeth out!”

“That is not what I meant to do,” Terry says, as Damian storms away.

“ _Damian!”_ says Steph. 

“He doesn’t mean it anyway,” says Matt. “Don’t worry about it.” Steph frowns, but neither she nor the dads go after Damian.

“On the other hand, this is why I don’t want him to be my Robin,” Terry says under his breath. “For starters, I kind of need someone reliable.”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Matt says. “For starters.” He crosses his arms and tries to look as square and solid as possible.

“Matt,” says Terry. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. Why don’t you go calm Damian down? I’m going to figure out where Cassie and Jay ended up. Maybe the know where that secret swimming pool is.”

“Schway,” Matt says, cheering up. This part’s easy. Damian’s actually really easy to talk to, and it’s not like he’s really mad at _Matt_. He secretly likes Matt. Matt heads out, hoping his instincts for where Damian would go are as good as he thinks.

“Schway,” Terry says. Whatever Matt’s got on his mind, like serious intentions of being a sidekick, Terry’s not ready to push anyone to action. Unlike Dick and Steph, who want plans for everybody all the time. Terry would rather be alone out there anyway, to be honest. Just a little bit of time with him and Bruce and nobody else. A little bit of normalcy, however normal that is.

It is a good thought.

He decides to abandon everyone else to their drama and adventures and secret pools and dreams of Robins. He goes to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, and then he goes to find Bruce.

~

It’s been a month since the Joker was killed, and Bruce still doesn’t sleep. In fairness, Bruce has never been a big sleeper. Now he sits up every night in his chair until Terry comes in and drops the suit off and goes home--even if Tim is backing him up, and Bruce is meant to be getting his rest. Then Bruce lies in bed, gets a couple hours of sleep (or less, if it’s a bad night for him), and then wakes up and waits for the next thing to happen. Sometimes there’s nothing, and Bruce goes back to sleep, and in the morning he feels worn out and hollow. Sometimes there’s something, and he has to decide whether to help or not.

Jason isn’t feeling much better than that. Some days he’s feeling a lot worse. He knows he can’t, _won’t_ be out there with Terry, but he doesn’t know what else he’s good for. Having nightmares and not eating, apparently. He tries to act like a normal person around Terry, but it’s getting harder. Everyone’s recovering, so it’s not like he’s about to throw a giant fit and scream about how he’s not okay. Nobody’s exactly okay right now. At least he gets to see Cass and Damian sometimes.

The one good thing he’s been doing is actually learning how to cook. Terry’s staying at home, so Jason can get up at any hour of the night and practice in Bruce’s big, empty kitchen.

Tonight, he’s actually sleeping. His mistake, probably, because every time he falls asleep, he has nightmares. Not even anything exciting, just straight-up vivid, accurate memories of dying. And everything that happened before.

He’s alone; he’s not screaming. He’s alone; the Joker is talking to him. He’s alone; Bruce won’t come. It hurts. Bruce won’t come. Then he does scream, out loud, enough to wake himself up, but he can’t stop and he can’t remember where he is.

It’s all darkness and disorientation and knowing no one is coming, not ever, not ever, and he knows that for a minute, less than a minute, maybe more than a minute, and then someone slams through the door and starts shouting at him.

Jason can’t make sense of it. Why isn’t he still alone, in the dark, dying? He hurts. He thinks he hurts. He’s still screaming, although the sounds are devolving into sobs.

“Jason!” Bruce says again. He hovers over Jason for an almost imperceptible moment before he sits down hard on the bed and puts his hands on Jason’s shoulders. “Jason, wake up. Jay. Wake up. Look at me. Look at me.” Every time he doesn’t do this he feels himself getting a little colder. A little more stale. He wonders if he’s going to crack, doing it now. He wonders if it matters, next to bringing Jason back.

“Oh,” Jason says, coughing through a sob. “Okay, no, got it. Got it. I just got a little--jumbled. Here now.” He looks at Bruce with naked gratitude. “You--came.”

Bruce hugs him so tightly and suddenly that it’s hard to breathe. 

“I did,” he says. Snags it halfway out of his throat.

Jason curls against him, eyes squeezed shut. He just needs something to hang on to. “I know you tried.” He thinks he knows. Thinks Bruce didn’t just abandon him, write him off as a bad kid.

“You don’t,” Bruce says. He thinks his hands are probably digging too tightly against Jason’s ribs. He tries to ease up. He doesn’t want to hurt him. “I was so--”

“But you got Tim next,” Jason says. It’s not what he means to say. He’s not jealous, exactly. He just doesn’t understand how Bruce got over him so fast if he’s _not_ bad. “Forget it, you probably don’t even remember what you were feeling back then.”

“I was so _close,”_ Bruce forces out. It almost sounds like a snarl, even though that’s the last thing he wants.

Jason can’t speak for a second. “That’s--awful,” he chokes out. “It’s fucking awful.” He clings on wherever he can find a handhold, silently begging Bruce not to let anything happen to him again.

“I saw it, Jay,” Bruce says. He doesn’t know if he should. He does anyway. “I was so close I felt the heat. I was _so damned close._ ” It takes all his might not to throw his fist against the wall. His hands clench anyway. The words feel like throwing up.

“Oh, God,” Jason whispers. “You--really wanted me.” That’s a terrible thing to say. Of fucking course Bruce did. Idiot. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I know, I just can’t--” He can’t connect the way Bruce feels about him with the way he feels about himself.

Bruce wants to pull back, but that’s worse than staying where he is. “Jay,” he says. His voice is divorced from the rest of him, it has to be. “I never wanted anyone like I wanted you.”

Jason shakes his head, crying, sick with fear and relief. “That doesn’t make sense. I believe you, but it doesn’t fucking make sense.”

“You just can’t see yourself,” Bruce says, hand in Jason’s hair, unable to let him go. “There’s plenty--about me. But there was nothing wrong with you.”

It doesn’t even have to feel believable to be a cusion around him. Jason breathes again, he can breathe again.

“Love you,” he says, settling a little. “You make me feel worth it, you know?”

“Worth it?” Bruce says. There’s an edge of normalcy in it, like maybe if Jason gives the right answer, Bruce will make fun of him in a way that will just make Jason like him more.

“Worth the hassle,” Jason says sheepishly.

Bruce does back up, at that. He doesn’t want to address this at all. “I don’t--know what you’re thinking about yourself,” he says. “But it isn’t true. You were a good kid. Things went wrong because--” Forty years and he still can’t just say it.

“Because I messed up,” Jason says stubbornly. “I’m not stupid. I know that. I shouldn’t have gone after my mom. I should have listened to you more. All that’s _true_.”

“Because I put you in bad places,” Bruce says angrily. “All right? Because I wanted a Robin, even after I saw what happened to Dick. I was such a--a selfish _bastard_ that instead of helping you I threw you into the middle of everything I was supposed to rescue you from.” He presses his hands against his eyes so hard he sees stars. “Some days I wish to God they’d just come and put me in prison,” he says. “But I’m still too much of a coward to turn myself in.”

“Hey,” Jason says, “Bruce, no. Hey.” He grabs Bruce’s shoulder and squeezes. “Do you know what my life would have been like _without_ all this? Probably even shorter. Definitely worse. You gave me a shot. You gave us all a shot. You loved me. You think I was going to find that anywhere else? You showed me how to _help_ people. I don’t regret a second of it.”

“You’re a stupid kid,” Bruce whispers into his wrist. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Jay. You’re just a kid. I could have done everything differently.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed,” Jason says. “Look, I can’t speak for those guys, but you spoke my language. I wouldn’t have known what to do with anything else. I don’t think you know what it’s really like out there. I don’t think you get how different my life with you was from my life before.” It’s important that Bruce knows this. Jason thought he did, but now he’s realizing that Bruce never really got what it was like for everyone he was saving.

Bruce sighs. “I see,” he says. “And can you figure out what to do with something better _now?”_

“I--guess I can,” Jason says. “I mean, apparently. I am. Sort of. Am I really fucking bad at it? Do you think Terry can tell?”

“Hah,” says Bruce. “I think you could afford to be a little more honest with Terry. I hear it’s better in the long run.”

“I’m usually way too honest,” Jason says, settling against Bruce. “But he’s got a lot going on. He’s trying to get back to normal, and so I should be normal too, right?”

“Be yourself,” Bruce growls. “That’s all the advice you’re getting.”

Jason figures he was about as _him_ as he could get when he first came back--angry, rude, and violent. Terry got that as a first impression, so it’s not like he’s gonna jump ship if he finds out Jason is having bad dreams and feeling kind of useless. “Thanks,” he says. “Yeah, you too. Be yourself.”

“Thanks,” says Bruce dryly. He is happy to have apparently escaped the deep waters of this conversation. He is happy that Jason thinks better of him than he deserves.

“Can you stay?” Jason asks. “Just tonight? Kinda don’t feel like being alone.”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Bruce says. It feels abominable to say and sounds worse, for several reasons.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason says wearily. He flops down flat on his back. “What, you think the only monogamous person in this whole mess might flip his shit if you spend the night with me? Or is your conscience still getting on your nerves? Bruce, I just want to be able to _sleep_. Swear to god I won’t even touch you.”

“That’s not--” Surprisingly enough, Bruce is suddenly absolutely certain that he’s going to cry. He’s _so tired._ And, he now realizes, Jason doesn’t understand. Dick always did, and Terry knows and says hell with it, but Jason just didn’t see the problem and that was the worst part. And now Bruce is old, and he hurts all the time, and everything he can’t do is like a physical betrayal. Nothing cooperates, and he’s still only half-healed from what the Joker did to him. He’s old. He takes time. He can’t lie here thinking how hideous he is, wondering how many times during the rest of the night he’ll have to get up to use the bathroom or stretch his sore knees or get a breath of fresh air.

He is too craggy and hunched and fallen out with sleeping even to sit against the headboard while Jason goes to sleep again. And he judges himself, if Jason doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be here, trapped with himself while someone he loves lies there and trusts him after he let them die.

“It’s _okay_ ,” Jason says desperately. He can see that it isn’t. “Just tell me what to do.” Maybe he should know, but he’s so bad at this.

“I almost died,” Bruce says roughly. It was so long ago, and that time is clouded in a way that Jason’s death could never be. But it’s relevant. It’s the best he can do. “Tim Drake found me, like Terry did,” he says. “He was a Batman fanatic. He knew you were gone. He knew I was getting--erratic. He was afraid Batman was going to kill himself.”

“He was stupid,” Jason says, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t--I wasn’t--” But it just sounds like denial. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know Bruce all that well.

“I failed you,” Bruce says, like that should say enough. “I failed, and I failed _you_. I watched you die. And I didn’t even--” He has to stop and take a breath, because he’s getting so tense that his ribs ache. “I didn’t even kill him for you, because the one thing I had left was Batman’s principles. I didn’t know what else to hold on to.” He shuts his eyes. “I was ready to do it anyway. Tim was right.”

“Bruce,” Jason says. He rolls over until he’s clutching Bruce again. “It’s okay now. I’m alive. Nobody’s mad. Not even Dick, and you know he’d be mad at you if there was anything really wrong, right? Just let me take care of you and you take care of me, okay? And we’ll take care of Terry, too?” He’s almost crying again. He doesn’t want to have gone through the hell he went through just to lose people now.

Bruce looks him over and relaxes, suddenly. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to get so emotional. I’m just old. I’ve had a lot of time to sit and ponder my mistakes. You know, you might want to reconsider your career move. You may have noticed, but retirement’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Jason smiles hopefully. “I’ll think of something to do. I think Terry’ll get bored eventually if we _both_ leech off you. But for now--Well, you haven’t had anyone around to cook or any of that. In a while. So I’m learning how to do that. Don’t know if you noticed.”

“I noticed,” Bruce says. “We could send you to a class.”

“Really? Huh. I might like that.” It’ll be hilarious if Jason turns out to be better at taking classes than Terry. He pats Bruce’s side, starting to get sleepy again. “Thanks. I feel a lot better now.”

“Sounds like you,” Bruce says, bemused. “Yes, we can look at things for you to do outside the house. Maybe it’s time we got you a legal identity, even.”

“I hear people like you to have those,” Jason says. It’s something he wants to think about a little, but he can always stall for time if he feels like it. “Think we’re all getting better?”

“Hmph,” Bruce says. “Do you still want company?”

“Only if you want,” Jason says. “I think I’ll be able to sleep either way. But you’re invited.”

Bruce almost says, “I’ll send up the dog.” But no. 

“I’ll stay for awhile,” he says. “I can sit at the end if there’s no space.”

“I’m guessing you somehow forgot that this bed’s as massive as everything else in this house,” Jason says. “C’mere, Bruce.” He pushes himself into Bruce’s space until he’s huddled comfortably against Bruce’s chest, one arm wrapped around his waist.

“You’ll have to move that,” Bruce says. “Old people have temperamental backs. And I’ll have to take the outside.” He feels his heart ease.

“Awesome,” Jason says happily. “When I’m not having shitty nightmares, I can sleep pretty much anywhere.” He worms around until he’s out of Bruce’s way, then snuggles up to him again. “That better?”

Bruce feels the whole world reset itself around him, just in a moment. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that’s better. Now go to sleep. You’ll start getting raccoon eyes and end up like me.”

Jason laughs and starts to answer, but the words get tangled in each other and he gives up in favor of sleep.

Bruce sleeps even though he doesn’t expect to. Not immediately. Immediately, he watches Jason’s face and feels him breathe. It’s been weeks, but there were four decades of mourning before that. Every time he sees him, it hits him again. So he sits here and feels it, that Jason is warm and alive and breathing and safe, still after all this, and he lets himself believe it.

~

If Jason isn’t interested in heroing anymore, it’s still fun to go out late some nights and climb around Gotham in civilian form, not getting arrested or eavesdropped or anything like that. Late night snacks taste better in the breeze on the unlit roof of a twenty story building, sitting with your legs hanging over the side.

“We should’ve gotten pineapple,” Terry says into his pizza. “We should’ve gotten napkins.”

“One, that’s disgusting. Two--yeah. Good point.” Jason takes a bite out of his pizza--pepperoni, the only real kind--and grins at Terry. Up, here, he feels like the kid he was before Bruce found him, only now he’s _mostly_ not scared. And he’s happy at least as often as he’s angry. He crosses his ankles over thin air and examines Terry’s shoes. “Think I’ll have another growth spurt?” he asks. No one has Terry’s freakish body shape, but Jason wants at least a couple more inches.

“Probably,” Terry says. “I had one year before last. You should try out that growing thing for sure. Maybe then you’ll stop looking like my kid brother.”

Jason opens his mouth and shuts it a couple times. So many inappropriate responses spring to mind. Finally he settles on, “Yeah, _he’s_ gonna wind up short. Wait and see. Short and square, ‘specially if he keeps working out so much.”

“Tim sure didn’t,” Terry says. He grins. “Matt’s doing good, though. He keeps bugging me for a test run.”

“Yeah?” Jason says carefully. “So, you gonna let him go?” That’s a question with a lot of answers. How does Terry feel about it, how does Mary feel, how does Tim feel, how does Bruce--who sucks at staying out of the picture--feel? Is it a horrible idea and they should stop giving Matt hope?

“No way,” Terry says. “I promised mom, he’s got to be as old as I was. But you know I think he’d be good. I mean, call me a hypocrite for not wanting the kid to make the exact same decisions I did. But assuming I get over it--he’s got talent. And I think we can work together just fine. It’ll be weird, but I think I’d like it. So give it another year and we’ll probably do it.” 

“Tim will flip his shit.”

Terry rotates the piece of pizza in his hands. “Yeah, maybe. But the old guys are going to have to get used to the idea that if they want to be involved with the whole Batman thing, it doesn’t mean they get to call all the shots.”

“Bruce will _never_ get used to that,” Jason says. He’s not sure, though. Bruce listens to Dick, sometimes. He definitely listens to Terry. He’ll even let Jason make household decisions, which is probably just because he isn’t really sure how to function without a butler. Or because he and Jason are friends.

“Maybe not,” Terry agrees. “But he’s not getting a say in if Matt’s my Robin. The closest anyone’s getting to veto power on that is my mom.” He grimaces, because she’s already pretty close to using that veto power. One super kid was more than enough for her.

“I hope she lets him,” Jason says. “I think you’ll be a good team.” He can say that without any bitterness, because, surprise, there are actually things he can do with his life that don’t involve being Robin. Things he prefers.

“Teams,” Terry repeats dubiously, but he doesn’t mean it. “No, I’m not worried about Matt. I’m worried about the runts. You can’t tell me Damian and Cassie aren’t going to be sneaking out in homemade costumes before too long.” It’s been more and more obvious, over the last year.

“So, what,” Jason says, “you think we should make sure to get to ‘em first and give the some real training, even if we have to lie to their parents about it?” Not that he’s thought about it. Not that he’d recommend it.

“Whoa there, tiger,” Terry says. “I’m just saying. It’s gonna happen.” He catches Jason’s hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

“Sorry,” Jason mutters. “Guess I just want it to happen _right_ , if we already know it’s gonna. We got Tim back in the game. That doesn’t mean he won’t flip out if one of his kids gets even a couple scrapes they didn’t have to get. Wow, your hands are soft.”

“Batgloves,” Terry says. “Very moisturizing. Don’t worry, they’re on my radar. I think we’ve got a couple minutes to breathe easy. Or just a second to regret my saying that because of _whatever_ terrible thing I just jinxed us with.”

Jason snuggles up to Terry’s side. “I think we can handle it. You. We. I guess I’m the butler now.” His mouth twists. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. Cooking kind of beats fighting. And gotta say, I think I’m better at it.” He never had formal classes in fighting.

“I did kind of kick your ass, the one time you took me on,” Terry says thoughtfully. “And since my greatest virtue is _definitely_ tenacity, and not _not getting beat up_ , I wouldn’t call that too complimentary for you.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “I could kick ass, but that’s because Bruce taught me a few moves. And I was always so pissed off. Now--Well, even if I didn’t freak out when I put on a costume, I’m not exactly Dick.”

Terry had been joking, because he knows Jay can fight--he’s done research, in the last couple years. And Jay wasn’t Dick, that was for sure. But he didn’t have to be--he was good enough on his own terms.

Not that it matters now. 

“Eh,” Terry says. “We already got one of those hanging around. Honestly, Jay, I never care what you’re doing, as long as you feel okay about it.”

“I know, normal boyfriend guy,” Jason says. He leans his head on Terry. “I like the cooking classes. I like living with Bruce. I like--this. You know. This.”

 _This_ is nice, because Terry pinks up like a school kid when you give him compliments. Even in the dark Jason knows. Knowing it without seeing it feels wonderful.

“You know,” Terry says, “it’s good you like school. You’ll make up for me and my brother and our barely-out-of-high schools. My mother really appreciates that.”

“Huh,” Jason says gruffly, staring at his feet. “It’s just cooking.” But it still means a lot that Terry’s mom likes him. Because he likes her, and because the longer he’s with Terry the less he can imagine wanting to be anywhere else. 

Terry squeezes Jason’s hand. “Hey, is this carefree date night or what?”

“Right!” Jason says. “Yeah, I’m all for that. Let me shove a piece of pizza in my mouth and then let’s see if I can seduce you while we’re still on this roof.”

“No,” Terry says. “Hang on. Let me--” He puts his hand against Jason’s jaw and leans in to kiss him. _You’re good enough,_ it’s saying. _You’re happy. You’re gorgeous. I really, really like you._

Jason kisses back with his eyes open. He likes to watch Terry kiss him. It’s fairly breathtaking. “So good,” he mutters against Terry’s mouth. He looks so good, he is so good, together they’re a really good thing. 

Terry laughs into his mouth and then pulls back, grinning. “This is definitely an improvement over when we met.”

“I can hit you a little, if it’ll feel more familiar,” Jason says. He gives Terry a little nuzzle. “Seriously, though. This is an improvement over everything.”

“Hah,” Terry says, and it’s not a laugh, it’s just him saying, _that was too true and it was bigger than you meant._ He shrugs his shoulders and gets to his feet, pulling Jason up with him and squashing the pizza box closed with his other arm. “I like everything about your plan except the part where we stay on the roof,” he tells Jason. “But if you wanna take me home, I’d be good with that.”

Jason smiles. “I wanna take you home.”

So they climb down from the rooftops of Gotham, and do that next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for patiently reading. :) We appreciate you deeply.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [let me touch you again for the last last time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386392) by [ohmcgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee)




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